Echoes of the Past
by purrpickle
Summary: When the most important person in Santana's life was taken away from her, everything changed. Now, the one person she's always wanted and needed is back. She knows there are big reasons why they should stay away from each other, but it's not that simple.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I do not own Glee nor the characters within. Alrightie, I am aware of all the stories and things I am working on, but I can't silence my brain, and if it wants me to multitask, then I'll multitask. *smile* And honestly, I look at it as a win-win situation because I'm writing all the time.

Warning, this story will deal with situations that most would classify as adult. I'm not giving anything away yet, though. Oh, and like always, this is Pezberry.

* * *

"Okay everyone! Settle down!"

Rolling her eyes where she was sitting with Quinn and Brittany, laughing at Matt and Mike who were doing some kind of dance-off, Santana exchanged humorous looks with Quinn. Mr. Schuester kinda really sucked at getting the class to listen to him.

Evidently figuring this out for himself, the young teacher clapped his hands together loudly, "Hey! Class! We have a new potential member auditioning today. Now, settle down so she can start."

That got everyone's attention, Mike and Matt bounding up to take their seats near Puck and the cheerleaders, Mercedes, Kurt, and Tina joining Artie at the lower level. "Oh?" Puck raised an eyebrow, slugging Finn's shoulder, "New meat?" Finn grinned and high fived him back. All the girls shook their heads in the universal _boys_ lament.

"Nice," Mr. Schuester gave Puck a reprimanding look, "C'mon, let's treat her with respect. Everyone, this is Rachel Berry!"

Stepping to the side, people suddenly noticed the small girl who had been standing next to him presumably the whole time. Once Santana got a look at her, she wondered how she could have not seen her before. Because once you saw Rachel Berry, Santana knew it was impossible to overlook her ever again.

Long flowing brown curls framing a strong but feminine face, all cheekbones, large eyes, and plump lips, a slightly too big nose only added to her beauty. Almost glittering brown eyes surveyed the room, taking everything in with an air of excitement, a wide smile curling pink lips up. Dressed in a slightly odd combination of a dark purple argyle vest over a white blouse that only hinted at a curvy body and full chest and a short purple skirt that led to endlessly long dancer's legs encased in white tights and black Mary Janes, the look really shouldn't have worked. But it did, as the girl practically _glowed _with presence.

"Holy shit." Slipping out before she could stop it, Santana sat up straight, mouth dropping open, "_Rache_?"

Those glittering brown eyes snapped over to her, and the girl blinked. "'Tana?" she blurted out, looking like she didn't know if she should smile or throw up, which was exactly what Santana felt.

"You two… Know each other?" Mr. Schuester looked back and forth between the two girls, picking up on the tension that had suddenly risen.

Wanting to shout _no shit, Sherlock_! Santana swallowed and continued staring at Rachel, not answering him. Looking concerned, Brittany put a hand onto her thigh, and Santana flinched at the touch. That seemed to break the spell she was under, and she finally managed to wrench her gaze away. Launching up from her seat, she grabbed her bag. "This is crap," she snarled, trying to avoid the hurt eyes quickly filling with tears that burned into her skin. And, for the first time, Santana stormed out of the choir room.

Ignoring the shouts after her and trying to figure out if she wanted to punch a wall (or three thousand) or call her mom and demand to know why in the hell they hadn't told her the Berrys had moved back, Santana let her anger burn white hot. Anger was better than breaking apart, and Santana fucking Lopez did _not _break apart.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Okay, I've figured out how this is going to be. Shorter chapters with quicker updates. That's the best way for me to share this story - enjoying the unveiling.

* * *

It'd been two, almost three years. Three years of silence. No letters, no calls, no news. It was almost like the Berrys had disappeared off the face of the earth and no one wanted to talk about it in fear they'd disappear too. Santana had hated it. When holidays and birthdays used to be filled with family and friends and laughter, they had quickly turned into stilted affairs full of whispers and pained looks and what she hated the most: disappointment.

Her parents, her grandparents, everyone that knew had been so _disappointed _in her. Those of her family who weren't aware still picked up on the stress, and Santana had never been treated the same ever again. Fourteen years old, and Santana Francesca Lopez, daughter any mother could be proud of, was no more.

The shock of cold plaster crunching under her knuckles followed quickly by heat that traveled up her arm told her she had given in and punched the wall. It was only when pain erupted in a burning flare radiating through her hand that she realized she'd punched the wall again. At least it was the same hand.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to beat someone up. She wanted to get beaten up. She wanted her heart to stop pounding. She wanted her brain to stop replaying the sight of Rachel's face over and over again in her mind. She wanted her hand to stop hurting. _She _wanted to stop hurting. She wanted to hide. Far away, where no one would ever find her. No one would mess up the life she'd built up for herself. _Her _life. Not the life her family thought she should have. Not the one they'd punished her with.

She wanted to find Rachel.

No, she didn't want to do that. She _couldn_'_t_ do that.

But she _wanted to_. God dammit, she wanted to.

Tears burned at the back of her eyes, and she clenched her teeth as hard as she could to not let them fall. Santana Lopez did not cry anymore. She'd almost killed herself three years ago with crying, and she was never going to do that again. Never.

_Never_.

She punched the wall again. That seemed to keep the tears away.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I know I'm playing with television versus real life timeline. Also, I have nothing against Kimberly a.k.a. the Pink Ranger. Obviously, I don't own the Power Rangers.

* * *

"'_Tana, 'Tana, 'Tana! Wait until you see the new color Daddy painted my room! Come on, it's this way!"_

"_I know where your room is, pendeja! I sleep over every weekend, don't I? 'Sides, I wanna watch TV first! Power Rangers is on!" _

"_Power Rangers is __**stupid**__! I don't know why you like it. Bill Nye the Science Guy is __**much **__better."_

"_Says who?"_

"_I do."_

"_Well, you're wrong. Power Rangers is __**best**__!"_

"_It's __**stupid**__!"_

"_You take that back!"_

"_I will not!"_

"_Yes you will!"_

"_Power Rangers is stupid, and you know it!"_

"_Yeah? You're just jealous!"_

"_Jealous! Of __**what**__?"_

"_Of me 'cuz I called the Yellow Ranger first."_

"_But… I don't __**want **__to be the Pink Ranger!"_

"_Then be someone else! __**I'm **__the Yellow Ranger."_

"_But the others are __**boys**__!"_

"_Then be a boy!"_

"_I am not a boy!"_

"_Rachie's a boy~ Rachie's a boy~"_

"_I am not! I'm __**not**__!"_

"_Rachie's a boy~ Rachie's a boy~ Rachie Rachie Rachie's a boy~"_

"_Stop it! __**Stop it**__! 'Tana, stop it!"_

"_Aww, Rache, you know I'm just kiddin'. I know you're not a boy."_

"_That's because I'm __**not**__!"_

"_No, it's 'cuz boys are yucky, and you're not yucky."_

* * *

The kid a couple of seats down from her was wearing a Power Rangers shirt. Not the new crappy shit; no, the old school original series. The Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. She wondered if the kid actually knew his stuff or was just trying to look 'cool'.

"Hey!" Santana leaned sideways and forward, cradling her hand in her lap. Quinn shifted behind her, but she ignored her. "Hey, you! Power Rangers kid."

The boy blinked, eyes widening a bit, but he smiled hesitantly. "Yeah?" he asked curiously. Santana guessed he was about ten or eleven or so, anywhere, really. She always sucked at guessing ages.

Her fist throbbed, but she ignored it, not wanting to concern the kid or his mother who seemed to be watching her suspiciously. Maybe it was the kid's father who was in the emergency room. Honestly, she didn't care enough to find out. "You watch Power Rangers?" she asked.

The kid continued smiling, some of his nervousness fading away. "Yeah," he nodded, "It's, uhm, my favorite show."

"That's cool." Santana nodded back. She could _feel _Quinn's _what the hell, S_? glare boring into the back of her head. "It was mine, too. Who's your favorite ranger?"

"Oh, the Black Ranger! Zack was cool."

So it _was _the original series the kid liked. Awesome. "Yeah, he was. I liked Trini. Can't beat the saber-toothed tiger."

"Okay, seriously, _what _are you doing, S?" Quinn asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Shrugging it off, Santana turned and glared at her. "Chill, Q! Since you're as exciting as crap, I'm takin' my mind off the pain some other way. You shouldn't have a problem with that. If I wants to talk about Power Rangers, I will. You can'ts tell me _you _didn't watch it."

Muttering, "Unbelievable," under her breath, Quinn rolled her eyes and looked away.

Santana smirked at her. "You did, didn't you? I bet you were the Pink Ranger!" she used a foot to kick the blonde's leg to get her to look at her, "Pink Princess Quinnie."

Quinn kicked her back. "I'll have you know I was _never _the Pink Ranger. The Yellow Ranger was much cooler."

Snickering at her normally ultra-composed friend talking about something as 'un-cool' as the Power Rangers, Santana counted it as a win and replied, "Wells, too bad, 'Pink Princess', I _always _been the Yellow Ranger. I's called her first."

As soon as those words left her mouth, she faltered, memories from years ago rising in her mind. Having been barely tamped down in the first place, tightness squeezed her throat, and her good mood immediately died. Losing her smile, she sat heavily in her chair and stared at the floor. Barely responding when Quinn tried to get her to talk, she sat in silence until a nurse called her name. Avoiding the gaze of the boy she'd talked to earlier, she followed the orderly into an examination room.


	4. Chapter 4

At least her cast was fuckin' awesome. Red with white trimmings, WMHS colors, it wouldn't clash with her Cheerio's uniform. She may not be fit for actual cheerleading, and Sue would no doubt chew her out and find some kind of outlandish punishment to torture her with, but frankly, Santana didn't care one fucking bit.

Her life was shit now, anyways.

Dropping her head, Santana sighed, wanting her pounding headache to go away.

"What am I going to do with you, S?" Quinn asked from the driver's seat, her voice low and slightly admonishing, "Because you're sure as hell not talking to me."

Three years, and she's back? Why?

"I know you have some pretty weird and intense mood swings, but this? If I hadn't come when I did, I doubt you would have been able to use your hand _ever again_."

What was she supposed to do? Ignore Rachel? McKinley High wasn't big enough to accomplish that, and now glee. Fucking. Glee. Maybe she should quit.

"Great, and you're not even listening to me. I swear, you're going to tell me what bee flew up your ass _soon_, or I'll make Sue seem like a kitten."

Santana bit her lip, tears once again building behind her eyes. Curling her healthy hand into a tight fist, fingernails digging into her palm, she turned her head and stared out of the window, forcing the tears back.

"This all that girl's fault, isn't it? Hah, I shouldn't even ask. I _know _it's that freak's fault. As soon as she showed up, looking like Liberace's ugly twin's closet threw up on her, you totally freaked – "

"I'm quitting glee."

Quinn slammed on the breaks. Jerking forward, Santana's cast hit the car door, and she gasped. That pain medication better kick in _soon_, fucking dammit!

"What the _hell_, Q?" she shrieked, almost drowned out by the ensuing car horns erupting from behind and around them.

Quinn's glare burned into her skull, adding to the pain of her headache. Signaling and pulling into the parking lot for Lima Carpets, the blonde parked the car and took a deep breath. "Okay, Santana," she started, voice full of anger and something else Santana couldn't make out yet, "I am going to pick up Brittany. Then I am taking the both of you back to my house. I will sit you down, and you will _talk _to us."

Not waiting for an answer, Quinn started her car up again and pulled back into traffic, now heading in the direction of Brittany's house.

Santana didn't say anything, glaring out the window. That was low, bringing Brittany into this, but it didn't matter. She wasn't going to say anything.

"Hey," Quinn said softly, her tone gentler, and Santana looked over at her, keeping her expression impassive. The blonde reached out and covered Santana's free hand with her own, "I know it has to be something big for you to want to quit glee, but me and Brittany, we – I – will be here for you."

Santana nodded, then pulled her hand away, going back to stare out the window. They wouldn't, couldn't understand. And she still wasn't going to talk to them.

Quinn's sigh was the only sound in the car.


	5. Chapter 5

Santana picked at her nail polish with her thumb, studiously ignoring the concerned gaze Brittany was sending her from across the room. Quinn had disappeared to grab three water bottles, shooting down Santana's request for breaking into her parents' liquor cabinet. Having told Brittany that she couldn't start the conversation without her, the tall blonde had obviously taken the words to heart as she hadn't opened her mouth since Quinn had left.

Brittany's stare unnerved her. Shifting, she sighed and tossed her hair, shooting the other girl a pointed look. "Do you mind?" she gave Brittany a fake smile, baring her teeth, "I don't appreciate the sideshow freak attention."

"I am not a sideshow freak," Brittany muttered, looking down.

That was immediately better. Still, "I wasn't talking about _you_, Britt." Jesus. She loved Brittany, but she wasn't in the _mood _for human interaction. Quinn, Brittany, her _parents_. Her parents.

"God dammit!" she grabbed the first pillow she could find and threw it at the nearest wall. Breathing deeply, she barely stopped herself from doing it again. Quinn's pillows were poor substitutes for her parents. How could they _lie _to her? How could they _fucking keep _this from her? What? Was it _funny _to them that she would just _stumble _upon Rachel?

Rachel.

Her stomach churned, and the nausea she'd been feeling all day washed over her again.

The mattress near Santana's leg depressed, and Brittany's slightly cold hand hesitantly settled onto her arm. Smelling the blonde's familiar shampoo, Santana tried to suck in even more of the scent, hoping that would drive the memory of lemon and honeysuckle away. "S," Brittany murmured almost directly into her ear, a solid arm sliding around her waist, "You're scaring me."

Tamping down the instant anger that flared, Santana clenched her eyes shut, not answering. She needed Brittany's cucumber melon to keep her composure.

The door opened, and Quinn slipped in. Santana didn't look at her. Hearing a "What the…?" she figured the blonde had noticed the pillow on the floor, but she didn't feel like acknowledging or explaining it.

The mattress by her other leg depressed, and Santana instantly felt boxed in.

Brittany shifted and removed her arm, picking up Santana's cast. As she stroked the tips of her fingers that poked out, Santana's heart fluttered, and she sagged, suddenly exhausted.

"Are you ready to talk?" Quinn asked quietly, setting a cool water bottle down near her bare thigh.

"I'm not going to talk."

"Why not?"

Jesus! Who did Quinn think she _was_? Dr. fucking Phil? She gritted her teeth but didn't answer.

Brittany breathed in deeply, her shoulder bumping a little against Santana's. "Don't you trust us?"

Santana's heart squeezed. Her throat felt heavy, and as "I do," slipped out, she cursed the medication that, while it certainly helped with the pain, seemed to make her sloppy.

"Then why won't you talk to us?"

That was _it_. "Fucking _hell_!" Santana yelled, pushing herself off the bed. Cradling her cast to her stomach as she whirled around, she glared at the two blondes, "I don't _want _to talk! I. Don't. Want. To. Okay?" Throwing her head up, she raised a hand to her face, spreading her fingers out to cover herself.

"Alright." Voice clipped, Quinn's words sliced through her, "Then what is it that you _do_ want?"

She wanted to storm home and demand for her parents to talk to her. She wanted to find out where Rachel lived and confront her. She wanted to get the hell out of Quinn's house. She wanted to run away. She wanted, she wanted…

She wanted to stop feeling this way.

She heaved in a harsh breath, forcing herself to calm down. If she calmed down, she could think clearly. If she could think clearly, she could probably prevent herself from killing herself due to histrionics.

Santana used the hand on her face to scrub at her eyes. Dropping it, she looked at her friends watching her from the bed, feeling defeated. The Santana they knew would have a snappy comeback or snarky remark ready. Something fucking full of attitude.

When Brittany and Quinn came forward to lead her, unresisting, back to the bed, Santana wondered if, since the moment Rachel had come back, she would even know who she was anymore.

* * *

**A/N: **Don't worry, guys, things are going to start being explained next chapter. But this is Santana - she's not going to be so easy to crack. Especially with something so painful for her.


	6. Chapter 6

Santana stared up the ceiling of Quinn's bedroom. Brittany was curled up next to her with her head on her shoulder, Quinn laying with her back to Santana on her other side. It felt like she was the dark meat filling in a blonde sandwich, and she wasn't sure she liked the feeling. Still, it was too late to move, and Quinn had been nice enough to let her sleep on the bed in the first place. Even though Quinn knew Santana wasn't interested in her _like that_, the blonde had been a little hesitant to let her back into her bed ever since she'd walked in on her and Brittany makin' it one day. Didn't really insult her; that was just Q. The WASP princess couldn't help the way she was raised.

Sighing, her breath made a stray strand of Brittany's hair tickle her chin, and she wrinkled her nose until the feeling went away. She couldn't move her hand to scratch it, as it was currently wedged in between Brittany's breasts.

Brittany was comfortable.

Letting her eyes flutter closed, Santana tried to focus on the soft breathing of her friends, hoping to lull herself to sleep. But as soon as her eyelids would shut, she'd snap them open again.

Rachel.

Rachel…

She'd grown up. Filled out. Santana had known she'd be absolutely gorgeous as the years passed. When she'd first had the thought, she thought she'd be right there with her, seeing it in front of her. They'd even promised, pinky swearing, giggling like mad, so loud Santana's father had to knock on the door to quiet them.

Santana bit her lip as a warm tear slipped down her cheek. In the dark, things seemed so much more fragile. Intense.

Painful.

Speaking of. She wiggled her fingers in her cast, wincing a little. That had been stupid of her. Now that some of her bravado had faded, she realized just how much she'd fucked things up for herself.

Sue would probably kick her off the squad now. Oh, she knew Brittany and Quinn would fight for her – well, as best as they could against the insane woman and come out intact with their lives and Cheerio statuses – but that didn't really make her feel better.

Wanting to roll over but prevented by the lanky body draped over her, Santana took a deep breath and slowly let it out. The ceiling of Quinn's bedroom was pretty damn boring.

"San."

Flinching at the sudden voice coming from the area of her chest, Santana waited until her heart had slowed down before responding. No sense in waking up Quinn. "Yeah, B?" she whispered.

The hand on Santana's stomach gently took a hold of the shirt Quinn had lent her, questing for the bottom. Knowing Brittany just needed the skin contact, Santana tried not to react too violently when her hand came to a stop directly onto the area above Santana's hipbone.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Brittany's voice sounded small, child-like.

Santana closed her eyes. She hadn't realized how her best friend would feel. It wasn't every day the person you trusted the most in your life revealed something they'd been keeping from you for years. "I just couldn't," she answered pathetically, hoping Brittany would drop it.

But she didn't, of course. "You're lying."

"Maybe." Honestly, she didn't know if that was true or not. "B, you gotta understand…"

Warm air puffed against her neck as Brittany raised her head, her eyes searching for Santana's in the dark. "I'm trying," the blonde said earnestly, her voice rising a bit, and Santana shook her head sharply to get her to quiet. Looking upset but talking quieter, Brittany continued, "But I _don't _understand."

Santana held her gaze for as long as she could before it became too hard to continue. She looked away, licking her lips. "I told you all I could."

Brittany's hand tensed on her skin. "That's not good enough," she answered stubbornly.

It has to be, Santana thought. But she didn't want to say that out loud.

Silence flowed between them. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but what could she do? Tell the _whole _truth? No. Way.

Quinn let out a breathy snore, and though they hadn't been doing anything, both girls froze. Ending up rolling over and smashing her face into Santana's breast, the blonde protested sleepily and flailed a hand out, pressing her palm against Santana's sternum to push herself back. Letting out an oomph and snapping her cast close to her body so Quinn wouldn't lay on top of it, Santana groaned when the blonde apparently decided that even if her breast wasn't acceptable, the side of her shoulder was for some fucking reason. Great. Now she really felt like a dark meat filling.

Quinn pressed the side of her face against Santana's shoulder as she settled on her back, mumbled once more, and fell back asleep.

Brittany's quiet giggles made a grudging smile come to Santana's face. "Good thing she's dead to the world," she muttered, and Brittany nodded against her.

Silence rose up again, but at least this time it was a little less oppressive.

But it was too much to ask that Brittany would stay quiet. "I can't believe she moved without telling you," she offered, sounding incredibly sad.

Knowing it was _for_ her, Santana nodded, trying to ignore the pain that flashed through her.

Starting to stroke her stomach in soft, clumsy circles, Brittany spoke again, "And you don't know why?"

"Yeah," Santana coughed, then repeated, "Yeah." She winced internally, hoping her friend couldn't hear the lie in the word.

"No contact?"

Starting to get a little uncomfortable with the rehash so soon after she'd already told her and Quinn earlier, Santana noncommittally mmhmmed.

She could hear the disgusted look on her friend's face, "That's totally not cool." Raising her head again, she tensed her body and hand on Santana's stomach, pushing up a little to brush her lips softly against Santana's cheek. "I'd never do that," she whispered, absolutely sure in what she was saying.

Tears welled up the second her lips touched her skin. A whimper slipping out before she could stop it, Santana clenched her eyes and jaw shut. "I know, Britt," she choked out, feeling her friend settle back down and grab her hand that had been trapped under her, lacing their fingers together, "I know."


	7. Chapter 7

Just like she had expected, neither of her parents made a big deal over the cast on her hand. It wasn't the first time she'd come home with mysterious injuries, and it definitely wouldn't be the last.

All her mother did was look at her, frown, and tell her to wash up because dinner was ready. No 'where have you been?' No 'how was your day?' No 'sit down because we have shit to tell you'. Just 'wash the fuck up and sit at the dinner table'.

Gritting her teeth, Santana kept chanting Quinn's recommendation of not killing her parents in her head. She may not come out and yell about how furious she was, but she certainly wasn't going to make this dinner easy.

Fifteen minutes of hearing her older brother talk about his classes at the community college, her younger brother complain about the amount of homework his sixth grade teacher was assigning him – yeah, like that shit was _anywhere _close to what her sadistic high school teachers saddled her with – and her younger sister prattle on about her upcoming ballet recital, all the while attempting to eat her enchiladas with only her left hand, Santana couldn't take it anymore.

She didn't want to glare down at her food. She wanted to glare at her father. She didn't want to keep her mouth shut. She wanted to tell her mother _exactly _what she thought of her.

Taking a large sip of her milk, Santana set the glass down, and cleared her throat.

"Yes?" Her father, Carlos, asked, raising an eyebrow at her. It wasn't often his eldest daughter spoke at the dinner table; normally she ate and got the hell away from there.

Resting her cast in her lap, Santana tried to stop the pressure in her chest from moving up into her throat and cutting off her air. She wanted to make damn sure everyone could understand the words coming out of her mouth.

"So," she started, successfully keeping any emotion out of her voice, staring directly at her mother, "When were you going to tell me the Berrys had moved back?"

The reaction was immediate.

Her older brother Miguel's mouth dropped open, while Cesar and Mariel, her younger siblings, looked on curiously. Carlos slammed his fork down onto the table, while Maria, her mother, went pale, looking like someone had just been killed in front of her. She wouldn't meet Santana's eyes, almost crumpling into herself. "Go to your room," she whispered.

The last time Santana had heard her mother speak in that tone of voice was three years ago. It _hurt _to hear it again. She sucked in a breath, surging forward as far as the table would let her. "No!" she protested, "You're going to _tell _me why in the hell you kept this from me!"

"We didn't know it would be so soon," her mother responded at the same time Carlos spoke, apparently gathering his wits enough to embrace the fury that was easier to deal with than anything else, voice low, "We will tell you no such thing."

"No," she spat out, "You owe me – "

"We owe you _nothing_, Santana! Or have you _forgotten what you_ _did to this family_?"

That was low. That was _too_ low. Of _course _there was no way she was going to ever forget. His words hit her directly in her chest, and she felt an overwhelming wave of anger slam into her. If her father was going to react that way, there was no reason why she couldn't, right? "God dammit, _why can't you just shut up_?" she slammed her fist down onto the table, glaring at her parents, the pounding of her heart rushing in her ears, "_Why can't you_ _let it go_? It was _three _years ago, and you _still_ –"

"_Santana_," Miguel hissed, cutting her off, "Shut. Up."

Whiplashing back, Santana flinched, curling her hand into a tighter fist. Who the hell did her brother think he was? "You stay the fuck out of this," she yelled back, answering his flaming glare with her own.

"_You will not use those words at the dinner table_!" Carlos roared, looking a second away from losing his cool completely, raising an arm to violently sweep his hand from her to the direction of her bedroom, "Go. To. Your. Room. We will talk about this later."

Santana stared at her father incredulously. They were going to _talk_? _Later_? She started laughing, shaking her head. Pushing herself back from the table, she leaned down, planting her hand to keep her balance. "What a fucking time to _start talking_, huh? We all know you're lying, _Papí_," she mocked.

Carlos reared back as if he had been slapped, his expression turning uglier. Miguel took that as a cue to pull Cesar and Mariel out of the room, dark eyes burning into his sister contemptuously.

"Santana, _please_," Maria swallowed, trying to cut off her husband's response, "Just go to your room."

"I can't do that, Mamí," Santana shook her head, biting back her original sarcastic remark. "I deserved to know. Don't you think I deserved to know, that this was something I _should _have known? Mamí," she stared imploringly at her mother, almost begging, "Do you know how it felt, _seeing _her – "

Carlos stood up. "Shut your mouth," he interrupted, "We do not talk – "

"_That's the whole fucking problem_!" Santana yelled, feeling light headed from the amount of air that stole from her lungs, "We never _talked_! You never tried to understand. You just pointed and judged and didn't _fucking _care!"

"There was nothing _to _understand." The angry expression slipped from her father's face, and he shook his head, looking so _disappointed _again, "Don't you get it?" he implored, voice soft and defeated. It was worse than the anger. Santana wanted the anger back.

"How? How was there _nothing _to understand?" This was making her feel all _wrong_.

Maria finally stood up. Taking a couple of hesitant steps toward Santana, she looked at Carlos, her husband avoiding her gaze as he stared at somewhere over Santana's shoulder, fists clenched at his side. She shook her head and turned back to her daughter, the expression on her face killing Santana. "Santí," she started, looking for all the world that she wanted to embrace her.

The breath knocked out of Santana's chest again. Her mother hadn't called her that since… "You do not get to call me that," she hissed, voice rising again. And she was _not _going to run into her mother's arms. Her mother didn't deserve that. _Maria_ didn't deserve that. When Santana had needed her, she hadn't been there.

Old pain glowed in Maria's eyes. "Okay," she nodded stiltedly, "Santana." She closed her eyes, then opened them again. "Please, calm down. You're shaking."

Santana realized she was, in fact, shaking. Still, her wounded pride wouldn't let anything but, "Who are you? Why are you suddenly _caring_?" pass her lips.

"Santana," Carlos said warningly, and Santana flicked her eyes over to him, sneering, "_What_?"

"_Dammit_!" Stomping forward, Carlos grabbed her by the collar of Quinn's jacket, snapping her forward. Yelling directly into her face, he caught the instinctive punch Santana launched with her cast, the shock of the stopping motion reminding her of the pain she was still in, "You are still our daughter! You are under our roof! You will show us _respect_!"

He also caught the punch she threw with her left hand, knowing she wouldn't try again with her hurt hand. "Oh, like you showed _me_ respect?" she spat out, struggling enough that she felt the material of Quinn's jacket stretch. She didn't care. She just wanted to get out of there.

Carlos suddenly dropped her. Gaze burning black, he stared directly into her eyes, face devoid of emotion, "You have twenty minutes to get your stuff together and get out. I suggest you use the time wisely."

Hearing Maria's gasp even before she digested what he'd said, Santana watched as her father turned and walked away.

Vibrating with pure rage, mind reeling, Santana screamed at the top of her lungs at his back, "_Good! I can't wait to get the fuck out of here!_"

Barely pausing, Carlos left the room. Thirty seconds later, the front door slammed.

Panting raggedly, feeling lightheaded and a second away from either throwing up or bursting into tears, Santana buried her head into her hands.

"I'll talk to him."

"No, Mamí," Santana shook her head, "Don't bother." Barely looking at her mother as she moved past her on her way to her room, mind already lost in deciding what she had time to grab and what she would break in to get later, she felt oddly freer.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Well, this it. Please remember that I mentioned there was something that most (I would say all, except I know that's not true) people would view as, well, not really _adult_, but definitely taboo. I hope I don't incur too many flames. Also, as a warning, there's some Pucktana in here. Not _explicit_, but not rated g, either. Though I did up the rating, anyway, for a variety of reasons.

* * *

Not wanting to deal with Quinn any more that day, nor feeling like explaining why her jacket was now stretched out something fierce, Santana walked to Puck's house. A trek she'd made thousands of times before, the only difference this time was that she wasn't planning on sneaking back to her house in the early morning.

Deciding to knock on the front door instead of heading straight for Puck's window at the back of the house, Santana sighed and played with the strap of her Cheerio's gym bag. Though it dug into her shoulder, she didn't want to take it off just to pick it up right away.

The door swung open, and Santana forced a smile she didn't feel onto her face, "Hey, Mrs. P."

Puck's mother smiled tiredly at her. "Hi, Santana. C'mon in. The boys are down in the basement."

Boys? Just _great_. That meant Puck was having one of his 'bro' parties. Slipping around the older woman, she asked over her shoulder, "Puck, Finn, Matt, and Mike?"

"Yes, sounds about right. Can you ask them to keep it down a bit?" Without waiting for an answer, Mrs. Puckerman walked back into the living room, and Santana rolled her eyes. Asking the boys to quiet down was like asking Mercedes not to do vocal runs.

As she approached the stairway, she could definitely hear why she had been asked to tell them to shut it. Sounded like Guitar Hero. No, wait. Santana cocked her head. Ah. Of course. Guitar Hero _and _Call of Duty. One of the boys must have brought his own system to hook up to Puck's extra TV.

Well, at least it wouldn't be boring.

"Yo, Puck!" she yelled down the stairs, "Be a man and take my shit!"

The silence of video games pausing was broken when Puck's head popped up, followed by his body. "Satan!" he smirked, loping up the stairs, "Come to get some of the Puckster?"

"As if," Santana scoffed, shoving her gym bag into his stomach, rolling her shoulder to get feeling back into it, "I jus' need a place to crash for the night."

After scowling but taking her bag, raising an eyebrow at her, Puck shrugged. "That I can do, as long as mom don't find out. Hey, what's with the plaster?"

Santana smiled toothily as she walked down into the basement. "Ask the wall that attacked me."

Puck whistled, "Badass."

"You know it."

Finding that they had started up Call of Duty again, Santana nodded at Mike and Matt, then smirked at Finn, who seemed to be practicing a guitar solo on his Guitar Hero guitar. Noticing her watching, the tall boy flushed and stopped. Clearing his throat, he smiled crookedly at her, "Hey, Santana."

"Hudson." Nodding back at him, Santana walked over to the refrigerator in the corner of the room. With any luck, Puck hid the alcohol in the usual place – the vegetable crisper.

Fuck. Yeah. The good stuff. Thank god Puck was predictable. Pulling out an almost full bottle of vodka and managing to clumsily open it by using her left forearm to push it tightly against her cast so she could hold it steadily enough to unscrew it, she was about to take a swig directly from it when Puck grabbed it from her. "What the fuck, man?" She glared at him.

He looked pointedly at her. "Are you on any pain medication?"

"Shit no," Santana lied automatically, shaking her head, "I am one hundred percent drug free."

"Riiiiight."

She bared her teeth at him, raising her cast. "Puck, I swear that if you do not let me gets my drink on, I will wield this like a wrecking ball on speed to make sure you can kiss any Puck Juniors _goodbye_." Raising an eyebrow at him, she looked him directly in the eye, "You know me well enough to know when I'm lying, right? Well, can you tell me I'm lying?"

Wide eyed, Puck shoved the bottle back into her free hand. Smiling triumphantly, "Thought not," Santana took a large gulp. Making a face as the taste fully hit her, she swallowed and immediately took another shot. Aww… Fuck. It was so bad but so _gooood_ at the same time.

Feeling the alcohol hit her nearly empty stomach, she grinned wickedly. "Hey, boys," she called over to the four football players, "Who wants to do body shots?"

* * *

Three hours later, completely trashed and having somehow ended up half laying half sitting on a snoring and shirtless Matt, who had crashed on the couch about half an hour earlier, Santana snickered when Mike fell over as he attempted to play DDR three sheets to the wind. "Again, again!" she crowed, brandishing her filled shot glass, egging him on, "Aren't you Asians supposed to be all Kung Fu and crap? I know you can do better than that!"

Mike groaned but jumped up, too proud to give up. "I _so _can do this," he slurred, trying to point at her but failing miserably, pointing about two feet to her left; this made Santana dissolve into violent giggles, and he frowned even more at her. "In fact – in fact," he boasted, "If I do this, you hafta, hafta kish me."

"A kiss!" she retorted, giving him a seductive look, though one part of her mind told her it was wasted on him, "You have to be pretty damn impressive to mack on _these _pleasure givers."

"Jus' watchhh!" And Mike, somehow managing to restart the game without tripping over his own feet, quickly set out to claim his prize.

Puck dropped down into the armchair near her, watching in amusement as his friend failed miserably. "Tha's jus' mean," he told her, and she smiled wickedly at him.

Slamming her shot, Santana gasped and threw the glass behind her and the couch, not wanting to deal with it, "I _know_. That's what's so _great_!" Lolling her head back, she decided she didn't like where she was anymore, and pushed herself up, making Matt grunt but quickly fall back asleep. Patting his leg, she blinked and looked at the suddenly blurry image of her friend. Feeling proud when she didn't fall over, taking the two steps it took to get to him, she unceremoniously dropped into Puck's lap, sitting up on her knees to straddle him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she gave him an even _better _seductive look than the one she'd used on Mike, "Hey."

Puck smiled, sliding his hands around to cup her ass, "Hey."

She bumped her nose against his. "How ya doin'?"

His breath mingled with hers, and when Puck murmured back before claiming her lips in a bruising kiss, "Oh, I'd say thing's're lookin' up, babe," Santana felt an odd hollow feeling cut through the alcohol.

Frowning mentally, she kissed him back desperately, pushing against him. Puck was known, a comfort. His lips were familiar, the feeling of his hands running up and down her back something she'd felt many times before.

His hands gripped her hips, pushing her down to meet the thrusts of his own hips as he rubbed against her. He was rough when he started nibbling down her neck, forcing her head back, making her gasp.

This was good. This was what she wanted. This was…

Puck slid a hand under her shirt and bra, palming a breast. The skin of his hand was rough, hardened from football. She tried to push away the _wrongness _of the feeling.

As his thumb circled her nipple, his tongue swiping across her collarbone, she tried to let the purely physical reaction wash away her unease.

Why? _Why_ was this feeling so _wrong_?

Frowning, Santana decided that maybe his lips back on hers would finish getting rid of the second thoughts. Pulling her left hand down to cup his chin and force it up, her eyes focused onto his, dark with passion.

God, he looked so hungry. So sexy and rugged and _ready_.

…Male. He looked so _male_.

And in that moment, she knew.

Pushing his head away, she collapsed against his shoulder, giant sobs coming out of her before she could stop them. _Fuck_, the alcohol, mixed with her pain medication, was doing more than Quinn and Brittany had done.

Awkwardly, Puck wrapped his arms around her, adjusting himself after a couple of minutes of her sobbing.

"I'm sorry," she cried, hating herself. And, before she could stop it, she continued the sentence, "I'm sorry, but you're not…"

"Who?"

"Rachel. You're not Rachel." God, it _hurt so bad _to say her name out loud. But she couldn't keep _anything _back.

"Rachel?" Talking to himself, Puck muttered something about glee and the weird new girl, then he hugged her tighter. "San," he pushed her back a little to look into her eyes, "Who's Rachel?"

Santana's lower lip trembled, and the rushing noise was back in her head. Could she… Could she tell him? She hadn't even told Quinn and Brittany. But he… He would keep her secret, wouldn't he? Puck was a bro, he was, no matter if they slept together or not, always her bro.

And she really needed to tell _someone_ before she _exploded_.

But he would _judge _her. He would see what her parents saw, and he…

But he was her _bro_. He wouldn't do that!

She took a deep breath, air skittering out of her mouth. She wanted to tell him, but… No. She shook her head. The more she thought about it, she _knew _Puck wouldn't betray her.

The alcohol finally cemented her decision for her.

She closed her eyes, feeling warm tears continue to well up and fall. Dropping her head back against Puck's shoulder, so solid and _real_, she whispered her answer directly into his shirt. "She's my cousin."


	9. Chapter 9

"'_Tana, come out here! I'm finished!"_

_From where she had been leaning against the doorframe, Santana grinned, watching as her cousin put the finishing touches on her snowman. Though Rachel had tried to get her to come out earlier in the day to help her, she'd been quite happy in the warmth of the house, and dared Rachel that she couldn't build one all by herself. Not one to back down from any of Santana's dares, the smaller brunette had turned on her heel and strode determinedly outside, ready to prove she was up to snuff._

_And now, about two hours later, Santana had to admit that it was a pretty freakin' cool snowman. Sneaking up behind Rachel as she started to call for her again, she dropped her hands over Rachel's eyes, "Boo!"_

_Screaming, Rachel jerked away, ending up tripping and falling into her snowman before Santana could put out a hand and stop her. Though it didn't topple over completely, a good portion broke off to cushion her landing._

_Blinking and staring at the scene before her, Santana suddenly guffawed, almost doubling over. "Ohhmigod!" she snickered, waving her hand in Rachel's direction to encompass the whole scene, "You look… You look __**ridiculous**__!"_

_With snow splattered all over her head, soaking her hair to her face, Rachel glared up at her from her askew position. Red burned on her cheeks, and her eyebrows drew together, telling Santana she was going to be in __**loads **__of trouble later._

"_Hey, hey," she held up her hands in a sign of surrender, "You __**know **__it wasn't on purpose."_

_Rachel sniffed, sitting up straight and crossing her arms and legs, "Do I? How do I know you were not so __jealous of my talent for constructing snowmen that you decided the best course of action to keep your reputation as the 'neighborhood snow artist' intact and unthreatened was to sabotage my hard work?"_

_Santana blanched, shaking her head. "Don't be __silly__! There was never any risk you could best me. And. Rache. Too many words, __**again**__. C'mon, let me help you up." Smiling widely, Santana leaned down to offer her cousin her hand. But, before she could register Rachel's devious smirk, Santana suddenly found herself violently pulled down. Yelping in response as she hit the cold snow face first, she rolled on top of Rachel, starting to tickle her wherever her hands could reach._

_Squealing, Rachel tried to grab her hands to stop her, painful laughter welling up in her throat. _

"_C'mon, let it out!" Santana laughed, enjoying the pure neon red the girl under her was turning._

"'_Tana!" Rachel choked out, giving up stopping Santana's hands and now trying to wriggle out from underneath her, "You. Are. A. __**Monster**__!"_

_Deciding to pause and let Rachel catch her breath, Santana grinned at her. "Yeah, __**your **__monster."_

_Rachel made a face at her, breathing heavily. "That… Makes no sense. If you were __**my **__monster, you'd do what I say!" She made a sudden lunge to push Santana up, but Santana tensed, not giving an inch. _

"_Not if I'm your monster of an older cousin!"_

"_By __**two months**__!"_

_Santana stuck out her tongue, then grinned. Finally taking pity on the smaller girl, she poked Rachel's side once more, eliciting a squeak, and rolled off of her. "You know," she raised her eyebrows at the sky, then turned her head to look at Rachel, smiling, "I think that If I really __**was **__a monster, I'd be yours."_

_Brown eyes studied her, sparkling in the winter light. Studying the way the color changed, Santana almost missed her cousin's soft smile and light blush. "You're weird," Rachel teased gently, then reached out and found Santana's hand, squeezing it._

_Santana smiled broadly, looking back up at the sky. "You love me anyway," she stated in complete certainty, lacing her cold fingers with the smaller, glove encased ones of the girl next to her._

_Rachel giggled. "You're lucky I do."_

_Santana hummed, feeling like nothing could take her smile away._

_However, thirty seconds later, she became aware of the snow seeping into the back of her collar. "Rache?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_It's __**cold**__."_

_Rachel paused, "Really? I hadn't noticed." She then laughed loudly. "Okay, I can't even joke about that."_

_Deadpanning, "You suck," Santana dropped Rachel's hand so she could jump up. Shaking the snow out of her jacket, she tried again to help her cousin up, and actually succeeded. "C'mon," she grinned, poking Rachel's nose, "Mamí should have some hot chocolate ready. Great for losers like you and winners like me." Then, without warning, she took off for the house, the sound of Rachel's huff and pursuit making her giggle._

_Hearing a yelled out, "You're a bad, bad monster, 'Tana!" made her laugh louder, but she slowed down and grabbed her cousin's hand again, letting the other girl lead her inside._

* * *

It was snowing. Standing at the window of Puck's bedroom, dressed in her camisole and a pair of old Cheerio shorts, mouth feeling like it was full of cotton, she knew her eyes were most likely bloodshot. Still, she could see the few white flakes looking gray in the weak light of the streetlights. It was too early in the winter for the big storms, yet.

Four hours earlier, she'd started crying.

Santana wondered if the place the Berrys had moved into had a big backyard. Or a backyard at all. She couldn't imagine the family of four who'd moved into their old house had been ready to sell, as their oldest wasn't even out of grade school, and the property was in a prime school district.

Once she'd started crying, she hadn't been able to stop. Puck had eventually carried her to his bedroom, kicking Finn out so he could spoon her as she rambled and sobbed, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist.

She wondered if it had snowed wherever they had moved from, or if it was hot and dry instead of cool and wet. Had they preferred the weather there, or had it been like a vacation: appreciate it while you can but count the days until you get to go home. Was Lima even still their home?

Puck'd been uncharacteristically patient with her, and that made her heart ache. He hadn't deserved her breakdown. But damn him, he'd made it impossible for her to be angry at herself.

Looking down at her cast, Santana wondered if Rachel remembered when they were each_ other's _home. If she had missed her like Santana'd missed her.

As the tears and strength had left her, he'd rolled them over so she lay on his chest, much like Brittany had done with her the night before. Then, as his hand had moved soothingly through her hair, he'd asked her, point blank, if incest really _was _best. That hurt so much it made her laugh, because she _knew _that was his way of telling her he had her back.

Taking one last look at the falling snow, Santana made her way back to the bed and Puck's side. As she slid under the covers, Puck instantly moved to pull her in close. "'Ey babe," he mumbled into her ear, "Everythin' 'kay?"

"Yeah," Santana smiled faintly, relaxing into his body heat, "Everythin's okay."

"G'd." And, breath deepening against the back of her neck, he was asleep again.

She closed her eyes and dreamed of snow and snowmen and sparkling brown eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

Sue found her at her locker Monday morning, reapplying her mascara. Concentrating on her makeup was better than worrying about who she could see in the hallway, and Santana had already exhausted herself earlier trying to convince Quinn and Brittany, whose bedroom she had moved into, that there was no reason she had to go to school now that her parents had kicked her out. But they were having none of it, Quinn reminding her that if she skipped, her probation officer would be pleased not at all.

That was low, but fucking true, dammit.

Besides, Santana fucking Lopez was no coward.

With a crash of Brittany's locker door slamming shut a split second after Brittany dropped to the floor to avoid it, the Cheerios' coach leveled her iron gaze at Santana.

Trying to appear calmer than the insane maelstrom she felt inside, Santana lowered her mascara applicator as she turned and raised her chin, looking Sue in the eye like she knew she expected. She didn't try to hide her cast. That would have been pointless.

"Lopez."

"Coach."

From a folder held near her hip, Sue pulled out something black and glossy.

_Fuck_.

"Lopez, I had expected that _you_, out of all the useless carrion eating maggots that dare call themselves cheerleaders under my tutelage, would understand the _responsibility_ of maintaining a body that can be manipulated into any position I see fit. And this," Sue slapped the x-ray of Santana's hand against Brittany's locker, "Shows I was wrong with that assessment." She firmed her lips, giving Santana the coldest stare she'd ever received from her before. "I do not appreciate being wrong. It makes me break out into hives. Big. Itchy. Hives."

Santana flinched minutely. Sue had just complimented her and insulted her in the same sentence. That was somehow more hurtful than outright condemnation. She curled her fingers around the mascara applicator, the cast weighting her other arm down. She concentrated on keeping her voice and face steady. "Coach, I can explain – "

Sue's eyes narrowed. "Did I say you could talk? Correct, I did not." Lowering the x-ray and crossing her arms, the tall woman shifted back to move her eyes up and down Santana's body, lips curled with repulsion. If she lingered on the red and white cast, it didn't show.

All Santana could do was wait. Forcing herself to stay emotionless, she coolly observed Sue's deepening look of disgust.

Disgust of _her_.

She knew what was coming. After all, it had been inevitable the second she'd given up caring how badly she hurt herself.

She knew what Sue knew. If Santana hadn't cared enough about Santana Lopez, self, she wasn't capable of caring about Santana Lopez, cheerleader. And there was no place on the Cheerios for someone like that.

The second her knuckles touched cold plaster was the second she had fucked everything up. Now she just had to wait to see _how _Sue would tell her what she already knew. It was not a good feeling.

Behind Sue, Brittany watched with wide eyes, hands worrying her skirt, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Santana had tried explaining things to her the night before, but the blonde had only understood the bottom line: Santana wasn't going to be a cheerleader anymore. She'd offered to quit, but Santana had quickly shoved her hand over her mouth, cutting her off. It had made her heart swell that her best friend loved her enough to give up something she needed just as much as Santana did, but she _wasn_'_t_ going to take her down with her.

Sue finished her perusal, something in her expression telling Santana what she had seen had only confirmed what she knew. She slid the x-ray back into the folder without moving her gaze from Santana, looking unimpressed. "Lopez, let me tell you something. When I worked as an interrogator for the US Government at Guantanamo Bay, I quickly honed the ability of spotting weakness in those who spent their lives denying them. Among others, the weakness of someone with the inability of controlling himself. While my level of control eclipses those of Tibetan monks in deep, deep meditation, it is clear to me that. Yours. Does. Not." Sue drew herself up straight, looking down at Santana for greater effect as she delivered her verdict. "The Cheerios have no place for someone who hurts themself. You're off the team."

Though she had known it was coming, it didn't mean hearing the words didn't hurt. Because they did.

For two years, Santana had defined herself as a cheerleader. She'd clawed her way to the top, and she'd _owned _it. With Quinn and Brittany, they'd ruled the school. Top cheerleaders, HBICs, the Unholy Trinity. Everyone knew she was Santana fucking Lopez.

"You make me sick."

Santana locked the muscles in her abs so she didn't clench her jaw or fist. They burned with the effort, but she was _not _going to give Sue the satisfaction of seeing her break down.

"I can't stand to look at you anymore."

Honestly, she didn't feel like looking at _herself_, either.

"Now get out of that uniform so I can burn it along with everything else you have touched. I think Fabray will be in charge of sterilizing your locker. I will _not _have your worthlessness infect anyone else like a spreading plague."

Santana knew she had brought this on herself, but she wasn't going to go down losing her self respect. When it seemed like Sue was done, she breathed in, took a moment to school herself, and met Sue's gaze squarely. "Yes, ma'am. I'll have it on your desk in five minutes."

She knew that had earned her some respect, but it didn't show; Sue's expression never changed. "Good. Now make sure I never see you again. Your stench of failure is insulting to my nose." With that parting shot, she turned, noticed Brittany, nodded her chin in Santana's direction, "Watch yourself, blondie, or this one's stupidity will latch onto you like a venereal disease," and walked away.

All of the preparation Santana'd done in anticipation of this moment turned out to be fucking _useless_. She…

_Who was she_, _now_?

Legs weak, she slammed her back against the locker to keep herself from falling. When the lightness in her head prevented her from continuing to stand, she slid down to drop onto the floor, barely registering the cold against her legs.

The smell of cucumber melon told her Brittany had moved next to her, and a second later a familiar arm wrapped around her shoulders. "C'mon, San," Brittany whispered, gently brushing her thumb along Santana's cheek, urging her to look up at her, "I hate to say this now, but you really need to change before she gets her ninjas to kill you."

* * *

**A/N: **I have never written Sue before. Hopefully I did her _some _justice.


	11. Chapter 11

_Santana could feel her heart almost bursting from the pride she felt. No matter how many times she went to one of Rachel's recitals, she still got blown away. Her cousin's voice touched her with its pure emotion._

_Shifting on her feet as she knocked again on the dressing room Rachel had texted her the directions to, Santana checked the pocket of her jacket to make sure the candy was still there. It had become a tradition that on the afternoon of one of Rachel's performances, Santana would bike across town to the small Asian market and buy sugar stars. Though it was as corny as hell, they were stars for Santana's star._

_About a minute after Santana's first knock, the door finally opened, and Rachel's vocal coach, Mr. Pujo brushed past her brusquely, not even sparing a moment for a smile or any kind of acknowledgment at all. She stuck her tongue out at his back, then slipped through the still open door._

"_Rache?" she asked curiously, seeing her cousin sitting at the dressing table that took up most of the space in the tiny room. Rachel's back was to her, and the smaller girl was staring into the mirror, whispering something to herself._

_Frowning, Santana shut the door and drew the plastic container of sugar stars out of her jacket. "Hey," she walked forward, smiling and shaking the candy, "Look what I got!" She placed them onto the dressing table, sliding them forward so they stopped right in front of Rachel, "That was __**amazing**__, Rache! As always." _

_When she got no response, she frowned again. Kneeling down next to Rachel's leg, she gasped. "Rache," she breathed, reaching out to grab her cousin's head and pull her away from the mirror to face her, "Why are you crying?" She gently started brushing tears away with her thumbs._

_Rachel sniffled. Her normally bright brown eyes were red, dull, and mascara tracks snaked down her cheeks. She averted her gaze. Her lower lip was trembling, and she looked so __**lost**__._

_Seeing her like that __**hurt **__Santana._

"_Hey, c'mon." She lightly tapped one of her fingers on the side of Rachel's face to get her to look at her, "Talk to me. Let me know who I have to beat up."_

_A small smile flickered on Rachel's face, but it was quickly gone. "How do you know it's someone else," she asked in between tears falling, "And not me?"_

"_Because it's __**never **__you, silly. You know that." Santana smiled at her. "Now," she sat back on her heels, releasing Rachel so she could crack her knuckles, sliding an exaggerated fierce look onto her face, "Is it Mr. Pujo? Because I's gots no problem beatin' on an old man."_

_Rachel snorted, shaking her head affectionately and using the back of her hand to wipe at her eyes. Santana's heart warmed with the fact that she'd gotten her to smile. "Really, 'Tana," Rachel looked at her, chastising lightly, "Where __**do **__you get your atrocious grammar? At our young age, if you insist on continuing speaking that way, it will stick and become part of your everyday vernacular."_

"_**Young age**__?" Widening her eyes in reaction, Santana sniffed. She flicked Rachel's forehead, enjoying the huff she got in return. "We're __**fourteen**__. We're about to enter __**high school**__! That is not __**young**__."_

"_Yes it __**is**__," Rachel retorted, glaring at her. "Unlike you, I accept the reality that we have barely left our preteen years."_

_For some reason, that bothered Santana. Pushing up from her knees, she jumped up onto the edge of the dressing table, kicking Rachel's upper arm lightly. "Whatever. You're no fun."_

_In retaliation, Rachel grabbed her ankle and yanked, "For your information, I am __**loads **__of fun."_

"_Hah!" Laughing, Santana kicked her again, using her other foot._

_Grabbing that ankle as well, Rachel pushed herself away from the dressing table, pulling Santana with her._

"_Whoah!" Santana scrambled to find something to hold onto, "Hey! Rache! Stop that! Let me go!"_

_Rachel giggled, yanking softly again. _

_Santana had to curl her fingers around the sides of the table, as she honestly didn't want to kick Rachel hard enough to get her to let her go. "C'mon. Let me go. You're fun, okay? You're __**tons **__of fun!"_

"_**Finally**__ you accept the truth." Rachel grinned and dropped Santana's legs._

_Letting out a relieved sigh, Santana unhooked her hands, wincing a little as she opened and closed them a few times to get feeling back into her joints. She glared up at Rachel's smug look. Jumping down, glad to be somewhere with no fear of falling, she quickly swooped in and wrapped her arms around the shorter girl, pulling her in. Rachel had always felt like she was __**made **__for Santana to hug. Smiling, she squeezed her tightly. "Hah hah, I got'cha!"_

_Instead of protesting, Rachel melted against her, arms sliding around her waist to hug her back. She let out a big breath of air and buried her face into Santana's hair. "'Tana," she whispered._

"_Yeah?" _

"_Mr. Pujo got mad at me today."_

_Santana frowned. "Why?"_

_Rachel didn't answer right away. Instead, she sniffled, and her chin dug into Santana's shoulder. It felt like she was trying to hide the fact she had started crying again._

_Santana __**hurt **__again. "Hey, hey," she pushed back a bit, nudging Rachel's chin up. Seeing the tears in her cousin's eyes again made her feel useless, and she didn't like that. "Please don't cry. I thought I just got you to __**stop**__. Do I needs to get my slang on again?"_

_Rachel closed her eyes, shaking her head. "Please don't. My cultured ears can't handle the affront to the English language."_

_That made Santana smile. "Well then, if you won't let me… Affront English, I guess you'll just have to tell me what happened." Hugging Rachel once more, she stepped away and led her back to the chair, pushing her down into it. Retaking her seat on the dressing table, she shot Rachel a warning look and shifted so her legs were farther away than before._

_Rachel picked up the container of sugar stars. Having stopped tearing up again, she smiled at Santana. It was small, but Santana knew she meant it. It made her face glow, making her beautiful face that much more beautiful._

_Suddenly, her heart skipped a beat, and Santana shifted awkwardly, not liking the feeling. When Rachel dropped her gaze back to the sugar stars, her heart settled down. Not wanting to dwell too much on it, Santana leaned forward with her elbows on her knees and her chin on her palms. She raised her eyebrows. "What did he get mad about?" she asked quietly._

_Rachel sighed. Picking at the label keeping the container sealed, she used her other hand to brush hair away from her face, her expression close to heartbroken. Her voice trembled, "He said I was a little late with one of the choruses, and that was 'unacceptable' and I should be 'ashamed of myself, ruining a classic like that'." Rachel's face crumpled, and she started sobbing, "And he's __**right**__. I completely messed up! 'Tana, I __**ruined the whole recital**__!"_

_Santana's mouth dropped open, an intense wave of rage suddenly making her unable to stay still. Snapping her hands forward before she could stop herself, she grabbed her cousin's shaking shoulders, pulling her up as she slid down, the sugar stars tumbling to the floor. Crushing the absolutely devastated girl to her chest, she promised herself then and there that she wasn't going to let Mr. Pujo get away with hurting the most important person in her life. She didn't know what she was going to do, but it was going to be __**big**__. Singing was Rachel's __**life**__! He couldn't just throw words like that around! So she was a teeny tiny bit late. So what? Santana hadn't noticed, and she highly doubted anyone else had. It wasn't like Rachel had been __**flat**__ or anything!_

_Hot tears fell against her skin as the smaller girl cried in her arms, and Santana whispered those reassurances and whatever else she could think of into her ear. Mr. Pujo had been wrong. __**This **__was what was unacceptable. _

_Santana decided she never wanted to see Rachel cry again. And she was going to do all she could to make that happen. Her cousin meant the world to her, and Santana loved her more than anything else._

_She'd always watch over her. She'd always be there for her._

_There was no way anyone could ever take her away from her._

* * *

Santana stared at herself in the mirror. Wearing faded jeans and a blue shirt, she found sad irony in the fact that the shirt she'd picked out that morning, knowing she'd have to change out of her Cheerios uniform, now matched the slushie sliding down her face _perfectly_.

Not even ten minutes after getting kicked off the team, and everyone in the school knew.

Azimio and Karofsky, the bastards, had immediately targeted her.

She'd gotten slushied for the first time in her life.

Santana raised her hand to her face, pushing a corn syrup soaked bang away from her eye so it wouldn't sting even more than it already did. Without her hair in a high ponytail, she felt bald. It was like part of her identity had been stripped along with it.

Fuck, who was she kidding? She _knew_ it had.

After the attack, Brittany had followed her, but Santana had sent her away. She wanted to be alone. She _needed _to be alone. She didn't want anyone seeing her like this. She could only deal if she was alone.

Santana closed her eyes.

The door opened, and she tensed, waiting for either laughter or insults. When nothing happened and she didn't even hear the sound of the door closing, she frowned, starting to get annoyed that she was beginning to hear things. Raising her head, Santana swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, hoping to blink away some of the sting.

As her eyesight cleared, Santana realized she knew the owner of the brown eyes that met hers.

Rachel. Standing in the doorway. Frozen with her hand on the door.

Santana stared.

Rachel.

_Rachel was standing in the doorway_.


	12. Chapter 12

Santana wasn't ready. She wasn't _ready_.

_Fuck_.

Covered in slushie. _She was fucking covered in slushie_.

Rachel shouldn't see her like this. Not like this.

Santana's eyes darted around, searching for… She didn't know what she was searching for. She just knew she couldn't look at Rachel.

Because looking at her made Santana's body numb and hot _at the same time_. Her heart punched itself against her ribcage. Her lungs felt like they had shriveled. God dammit, why did it feel like her body wanted to make her pass out?

Rachel slowly took a step forward, far enough that she could let the door go. The click of the latch was deafening in the silence.

Their eyes met.

A mixture of emotions swirled in the depths of dark brown, a glassy sheen telling Santana that Rachel was just as lost as she was. Neither of them knew what to do. What they were _supposed _to do. They were both unsure if they wanted to stay or get the hell away. Honestly, that didn't that make her feel better.

Santana wished she could read further into Rachel's expression, but Rachel wasn't letting her. She had created a shield while she was gone, and Santana couldn't pierce through it. That stung. She _needed _to know what Rachel was feeling. Was she mad? Was she sad? Hurt? Did she blame Santana? Did she _hate _her? Was she _disappointed _in her like everyone else? Did she want Santana back in her life?

Did _Santana_ even want Rachel back in _her_ life?

Santana looked away. Rachel's eyes… They were too _intense_. The girl they belonged to could still read her better than anyone else. Unlike Rachel, Santana had only worked on a shield that kept everyone _else _out. She'd never prepared it for Rachel. Never Rachel. So if she let her look too long, Santana would be laid naked before her. And she couldn't do that. When she had left, Santana'd locked everything away, locking herself away in the process. She didn't want anyone to read her ever again. Especially not the girl who'd hurt her.

Santana swallowed, hating the old pain that shot through her. This was _pathetic_. _She _was being pathetic. She pushed back the rise of tears that burned her eyes. Fucking corn syrup.

Santana went back to the mirror in front of her. If she didn't look at her cousin, maybe she wouldn't pass out. Maybe Rachel would go away.

But she didn't. Quiet footsteps headed for her, and Rachel stopped a couple of feet away. Santana could _feel _her. She bit her lip, clenching her fist on the counter, digging her cast into the side of her body. She was _not _going to cry.

And she was sure as fuck _not_ going to give in and pull the girl into her arms, no matter how much her skin prickled with awareness of her presence.

Rustle of cloth, and a small hand set down a handkerchief just within the edges of her peripheral vision, and Santana's heart thumped heavily. _Thank you_, she wanted to say, but the words stuck in her throat. She couldn't even open her mouth. Wordlessly, she turned on the faucet and picked up the cloth. Wetting it, she cleaned her face, turning the white blue before it ran down the drain. Santana watched the colored water, crushing the handkerchief in her fist.

She hated this. She hated the reason she had needed the handkerchief. She hated where she was. What was happening.

Rachel should not be seeing her like this. Not when she was worthless, homeless, identity-less. Why the _fuck _did they meet up _now_? Anger started building within her. Why was Rachel in the bathroom? Why was Rachel even _back_? _She wasn't even supposed be here_! Not at _her _high school, not in _her _city. Not standing the fuck _right next to her_.

She had left, ripping herself away from Santana's life. And when she had come back, she had taken everything away from her _again_. It was Rachel's fault Santana was standing here, having been slushied, wearing normal clothes, lost. It. Was. All. Rachel's. Fault.

Santana reacted before she knew what she was doing. Hissing, she violently threw the soaked handkerchief at Rachel, "_You shouldn't be here_."

Rachel flinched as the cloth hit her stomach, dropping to the floor with a soft squelch. She didn't watch it fall, her eyes snapping to Santana's instead. Raising her chin, she seemed to stand up straighter, reinforcing her posture. Firming her lips, the words that left her mouth cut deep, "Well. Congratulations on your first words to me to be those."

What. The. Fuck? 'Congratulations on your first words to me to be those'? _What the hell was that_? Was Rachel _playing _with her? She glared as hard as she could. Hot fury was easier to deal with than the anguish battering against her walls. Even if she wanted to take her words back, there was no way in hell she was going to now.

Rachel flinched again and looked away. Tears started building in her eyes, but she coughed, trying to hold them back. "This was a mistake," she whispered to herself, running one hand through her hair in a nervous gesture Santana remembered from before. Eyes skittering back to look at her, Rachel closed them and turned away, heading towards the door. In that split second, Santana had been able to see that her mask had slipped, and Rachel had let her in.

Pain exploded in her chest, surging out through the rest of her. Suddenly, her lungs released their iron grip, and her cousin's nickname burst out of her mouth in a harsh exhale. "Rache."

Rachel froze. She didn't turn around or answer her.

Santana took a step forward.

She didn't know what she was doing anymore. All she knew was that Rachel was crying. That still made her _hurt_. Swallowing and preparing herself for the jolt that she knew would run through her as soon as she touched the other girl, she hesitatingly brushed her fingers against the fabric of Rachel's shirt.

Rachel drew in a shuddering breath.

Santana's fingers burned as she wrapped them around a slim arm. "'Tana…" Rachel breathed, though Santana didn't know if it was in warning or invitation. When she made to move, Santana stopped her.

"No," she whispered, swallowing; Rachel still smelled like lemon and honeysuckle, "Don't turn around." If Rachel looked at her, she'd break apart.

After a second, Rachel nodded, her body relaxing slightly. Santana stared at the back of her head, the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed. Her heart wanted to beat out of her chest. Her throat wanted to squeeze shut again.

This was a bad idea. She shouldn't be doing this. After what happened with Puck, she should know better. There was too much between them. Too much unsaid. Too much confusion. They probably shouldn't even be talking at all.

Fuck it. Santana was never one to follow what was best.

Before she could stop it even if she wanted to, Santana slid her arms around her cousin's waist, burying her head into her hair, pulling her in flush against her body. She melted into the feel of Rachel, heat and desperation flowing through her. "Even if you hate me," she whispered thickly, hoping the roughness of her voice hid the trembling, "Let me hold you. Just for a little."

She could feel Rachel trying to figure out how she should react, nervous energy thrumming through her body. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, she relaxed, no longer keeping most of her weight away from her. With a deep, body shaking sigh, she nodded, pushing back into Santana's front.

Santana whimpered, tightening her embrace. She needed this. She needed Rachel. For however long she got to have her. For however long it was until reality intruded.

Because the truth was that this was fucked up. This. Her standing there, holding Rachel. She _shouldn_'_t _be. Not after what happened between them. Not when they hadn't talked.

Not when it was obvious there was still _something_ between them.

But before all the shit that happened, they'd been best friends. They'd grown up together. They'd loved each other deeply, without question. The girl she was holding hadn't just been her cousin. She'd been her _everything_. And no matter how much Rachel had hurt her and how much she had hurt Rachel, she'd always want her _everything _back.

The bathroom door swung open, startling them.

"S? Are you in here? C'mon, class is about to start, and – oh."

In that second, Santana had never wanted to kill Quinn more. Because as the blonde entered the bathroom, catching them, Rachel seemed to realize what it was they were actually doing. Shoving Santana away from her, she ran past Quinn with a mumbled apology.

Cold emptiness slammed into Santana, and she slumped back against the counter, raising her hand to her face so she could muffle the sob she felt coming.

"I am _so _sorry," Quinn whispered, walking over to her. Her voice was full of regret, "I wouldn't have come in if I had known."

Santana couldn't look at her. If she did, she'd end up either punching her friend or crying on her shoulder. She didn't know which one, and she _really_ fucking didn't want to do either in the first place.

"Whatever," she grunted, the walls of the bathroom suddenly closing in on her. Only stopping to pick up Rachel's handkerchief and slipping it into her jeans pocket, not giving a fuck if it was still wet or dirty, she forced herself to go back out into the real world before she never left at all.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **I like Emma. She's an interesting mix of wisdom and nervousness. However, writing her actually doing her _job _is hard.

Also, be aware: ffnet, for some reason, has only been bumping my story up to the top of the page every other chapter I post. It's highly annoying, and I suggest pushing on the previous chapter button just to make sure you haven't skipped any and aren't missing key points of the story. Thank you.

* * *

Ms. Pillsbury's eyes were fucking huge. It was disconcerting as all hell. It was like the guidance counselor was some sort of otherworldly creature and the whites of her eyes were the gates to a vortex that would open up and swallow her whole.

…Yeah. If she was having those kinds of thoughts, she _knew _she was either going to fall asleep or kick over a chair. And, looking over Ms. Pillsbury's anally clean office, she knew which one she'd prefer to do. That would be epically badass. And Santana really _needed _to do something epically badass. Soon.

"So. Santana. Do you know why I called you in here?"

Santana shrugged, looking back at the guidance counselor. It really didn't matter to her. It'd gotten her out of class, and that was all she cared about.

"Ah." Ms. Pillsbury nodded almost to herself, looking down at her insanely sparkling desk. "Well," she started again, giving Santana a compassionate glance, "I noticed you're not dressed in your usual Cheerios uniform. Would you like to talk about that?"

Santana glowered. That was on her list of _no fucking way_. "What's it matter to you?"

The older woman frowned. "Santana, I'm just concerned about you, that's all. I imagine that a young woman such as yourself, who actively played a role in the hierarchy at this school, would find it a bit, uhm, _jarring_ to suddenly not be… Not be a part of it anymore."

Santana stared at Ms. Pillsbury. Was she… Was she _seriously _trying to have this conversation with her? "What would _you _know about it?" she scoffed, wishing her damn hand wasn't in a damn cast so she could cross her arms, "I bet high school's changed a lot since _you _went." Lowering her voice, she made absolutely sure she could still be heard, "In, like, the Depression or some shit."

Ms. Pillsbury frowned, and Santana swore it looked like her eyes got even bigger. "Language, Santana."

Santana rolled her eyes. Whatever. Just because she wasn't a cheerleader anymore didn't mean her attitude went with it. That seemed to be the only thing she had left.

"Okay. It's obvious you do not wish to talk about that right now. Just know my office is always open." The redhead smiled supportively at her.

Santana sat up. "Does this mean I can leave?"

Ms. Pillsbury shook her head. "Oh, no, not yet. Uhm, Will – Mr. Schuester told me that you stormed out of glee on Friday?"

_No_.

"And that, it most probably had something to do with the new transfer student?"

Santana gritted her teeth.

Glancing down at one of the folders she'd pulled out of the filing cabinet when Santana walked into her office, Ms. Pillsbury furrowed her brow. "A… Rachel Berry." She looked back up at Santana, "Want to talk about that? Er, her?"

Santana clenched her fist in her lap, struggling to keep herself in check. "No," she pushed through her teeth, glaring at the older woman to tell her that was _fucking off limits_.

Ms. Pillsbury flinched, but she leaned forward in her seat. Her concerned expression made Santana uncomfortable. "Santana," she started, "Obviously there is something bothering you greatly, and, while that's not a public issue, if it's going to, uhm, affect glee, we, or at least Mr. Schuester, would like to get it all out in the open."

There was no fucking way that was going to happen. _Ever_. She continued glaring at Ms. Pillsbury stonily.

Ms. Pillsbury's forehead wrinkled a little, and she took in a deep breath. Sitting back in her chair, her eyes swept over the pamphlets she kept on her desk before returning back to Santana. She sighed. "Well, Santana, if you don't want to talk about it for glee, maybe you should think about talking about it for your health."

"What the hell?" burst out of Santana before she could stop it, and her heart thumped heavily in her chest. Fuck fuck fuck.

The redhead looked at her seriously, managing to look disapproving and sympathetic at the same time. "On Friday, Dave, the school janitor, discovered that in the girls' bathroom nearest the choir room, someone had, uhm, punched the wall. Repeatedly."

Santana deepened her glare, clamping down on the anger that was accelerating her breathing. She was starting to sweat, and that was _disgusting_.

"Now," the guidance counselor took another deep breath, "I saw the damage. I cannot imagine the emotion that would… Motivate someone to hurt themself this way."

_Why was everyone so fucking __**concerned**__ with the fact that Santana had hurt herself_? It wasn't like she was a cutter, and she'd _learned_ her lesson. There were _much _better things to punch than a wall. Like Azimio and Karofsky when her hand healed. They were going _down_.

"Aside from the physical damage someone would have received from this attack," Ms. Pillsbury's eyes flickered to Santana's right arm, and Santana immediately tensed her muscles in reaction, "There is also the fact that that… Person… Defaced school property. It's going to cost money to repair the damage."

_Fuck_.

"However," Ms. Pillsbury hastened to move on, "That's not what _I_'_m _worried about. That's Principal Figgins' concern." The redheaded woman looked at Santana again, eyebrows drawing together. "Santana," she spoke gently, quietly, "Why did you punch the wall?"

"How the fuck do you know it's _me_?" Santana spat out the first thing she could think of, "Because if this is racial profiling or some shit, I will – "

"Santana." Ms. Pillsbury cut through her rant, "This has nothing to do with racism. Not at all." The woman frowned, as if the words she was saying disgusted her, and she moved on quickly. "I have on good authority that you were _in _that bathroom for twenty minutes before Miss Quinn Fabray entered and exited with you a minute later. Now, it isn't _impossible _that the damage could have been inflicted earlier in the day, but _no one_," Ms. Pillsbury looked at Santana pointedly, "No one but you, okay, was reported to have been injured."

_Reported _– how the _fuck_?

"You can't prove shit," Santana replied angrily, mind racing.

"Uhm, there's vid – ah, video evidence. Online."

_Jewfro_.

He. Was. _Dead_.

Santana's vision turned red. Time to go kill a bastard. She pushed herself up from her chair. Ignoring Ms. Pillsbury's squeak, she was just about to wrench open the door when something the guidance counselor said _did _cut through her rage.

"Santana! I am going to have to notify your parents if you insist on acting out these violent impulses. There is obviously someth – "

_No_.

Santana suddenly found herself with her hand planted firmly on Ms. Pillsbury's desk, leaning forward and hissing directly into the guidance counselor's face, "_You are not going to call my parents_."

"Santana!" Ms. Pillsbury gasped out, face going white as those huge eyes stared at her. "I would su-suggest you back up before you do something you – and I – would seriously regret." There was a pause, and the woman added faintly, "Please."

God, what the fuck was _wrong _with her? Santana swallowed, slowly unlocking her muscles, the strain making her tremble. When she finally stood up straight, she licked her lips and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She heard Ms. Pillsbury let out a relieved sigh, and Santana wanted to punch herself. _Hard_.

"You are not going to call my parents," she repeated, struggling to keep her voice low and steady, opening her eyes and meeting Ms. Pillsbury's again. "Please." She repeated Ms. Pillsbury's entreaty back to her. All the strength seemed to leave her, and she blinked, looking away.

"Santana," _God_, she was beginning to hate her name coming out of Ms. Pillsbury's mouth; the woman slowly stood up, obviously wondering if she was doing the right thing, as she approached Santana hesitantly, "Please, is there… Is there any way I can… Help you with these angry feelings?"

It _actually_ sounded like Ms. Pillsbury _actually_ cared.

Santana couldn't stand it.

At her silence, Ms. Pillsbury sighed. Walking back behind her desk, she retook her seat, sliding a hand over her hair to smooth it down. Staring at Santana again, she finally spoke, "Well, if you want to go now, you can go… I won't keep you. However, I _would _have to see you again by tomorrow afternoon at the latest, and, well, it would involve Principal Figgins." She looked at Santana directly, "But, uhm, I don't think you're prepared for that yet, are you?"

Santana shifted on her feet, taking deep breaths to continue calming down so she could think. Part of her was telling her to stay, to make up for the shit load of trouble she had just gotten herself into. Hopefully make it go away. Because Ms. Pillsbury could _easily _have her put in detention or suspended for what she'd just done. She needed to do some sick damage control.

But the other side of her was _done_. She was over_ everything_. If she walked out that door and out of the school and just kept on walking, she'd eventually walk far enough away that nothing mattered anymore. Not the Cheerios, not her parents, not _Rachel_. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Ms. Pillsbury started talking again. "_However_, if you want to stay… I would be willing to listen to your reasons about why you don't want to involve your parents. No matter if it _is _against school policy to withhold that information, you know." She added almost as an afterthought.

Santana opened her eyes and took in the expression on Ms. Pillsbury's face. She didn't look angry, scared, or anything like she held what Santana had just done against her. Instead, she looked determined and open, a little worried, but she sat patiently waiting for Santana's decision.

That scared the shit out of her.

Ms. Pillsbury must have read something in her expression, because she suddenly pulled out a notepad and pen from her desk, quickly writing something down. Then, as she carefully made sure that the page ripped out evenly, she turned back to Santana. "Here," she rose and held out the paper, Santana slowly reaching out to take it, "Here's a note for tomorrow morning. During your homeroom. I'd like to see you back here, and we can, uhm, continue our talk." She smiled quickly, "About _anything _we've discussed today. Okay?"

What was this? The Twilight Zone? Staring at the paper in her hand, Santana furrowed her brow and looked back up at Ms. Pillsbury, who was still looking at her with a concerned expression on her face.

What. The. Fuck.

Who the hell _was _this woman? She actually _did _something other than follow Mr. Schuester around like a freaky doe-eyed groupie?

Ms. Pillsbury suddenly blinked, eyes widening. "Oh, oh my, it must be later than I thought it was," she murmured, but when she noticed Santana looking at her, she put a big smile on her face. "Well, that's all the time I have for you, Santana, so I'll see you back here bright and early in the morning, okay? Mmhm, that's good. That's… Good."

Seriously starting to get creeped out again, Santana stuffed the note into her back pocket and shot Ms. Pillsbury a quick suspicious glance before turning around, ready to start making her way out of the office. When she saw who was standing, waiting outside in the hallway, and obviously the reason for Ms. Pillsbury's changed behavior, she rolled her eyes.

As quick as she could, she skirted around Mr. Schuester, not wanting to be pulled into anymore _talks _that day. In fact, all she wanted to do was to go find a place where she could be alone and figure out what the hell she was going to do about that _damn, fucking wall_. _And her parents_. _And Ra_ –

Santana's chest tightened.

What was she supposed to do about Rachel?

Because now that she'd held her in her arms, she ached for her even more.


	14. Chapter 14

_She hadn't seen Rachel in a month. They'd never been apart for so long before, and Santana could hardly stand waiting the last five minutes until her cousin appeared in Baggage Claim. She hadn't even had to beg to be allowed to accompany her uncles, as they had already agreed practically before Rachel had even __**left **__for vocal camp in California. In fact, they'd offered to stay in the car while Santana went to collect Rachel alone. That made her feel awfully grown up, and a new energy was buzzing in her stomach, her heart seeming to flip each time she spotted dark hair._

_She'd missed Rachel __**terribly**__. Oh, she'd received a postcard each week, and they managed to talk on the phone twice a week and sneak in texts in between, but it wasn't the same as always having her Rache with her. It was like a part of her had been missing. Even her older brother had taken to teasing her about losing the little midget in her freak show. _

_When Rachel appeared, Santana smiled so widely her cheeks hurt. Warmth settled in her body, and she ran forward, sweeping her cousin in a hug so tight she would have been afraid the other girl would get annoyed with her except that Rachel was clinging to her just as tightly._

"_Oh god, Rache," she murmured, drinking in the feeling of the girl against her again, "I missed you so __**much**__!"_

_Rachel giggled, the sound making the tumbling of Santana's heart skip a beat. "'Tana," the shorter girl pulled back, smiling impishly up at her, "I must admit I missed you too."_

_Santana made a face, but couldn't keep it long, her grin chasing it away, "Oh you'll __**admit**__, huh? C'mon, you know you missed me __**horribly**__." She teasingly ran her hand along Rachel's waist, threatening to tickle her._

_Rachel slapped her hand away, blushing, and she smoothly detached from Santana's arms, picking up the backpack she had dropped at Santana's attack, "'Tana Lopez, you are __**not **__going to tickle me in the middle of an __**airport**__."_

_Santana pouted and smoothly plucked the backpack away from her. "Have I told you how much fun you aren't?" she quipped as she followed Rachel over to the correct baggage carousel, slipping the bag onto her shoulder._

_Rachel rolled her eyes, "Many times, actually," but as they stopped in front of the conveyor belt, she quickly slipped her hand into Santana's, automatically lacing their hands together._

_Santana sucked in a deep breath, freezing with a snarky retort on the tip of her tongue at the jolt that had run through her. Her fingers tingled. Something she couldn't recognize coiled in her stomach. _

_Rachel's touch had almost burnt through her._

_Wide eyed, she flicked her gaze to Rachel, wanting to see if she was feeling the same thing. Her cousin's deep brown eyes met hers, and the answering uncertainty and awareness in them made Santana's mouth dry._

_They stared at each other. Rachel's eyelashes fluttered, and the feeling in Santana's stomach started spreading throughout her body. _

_Suddenly, the light on the baggage conveyor started flashing, and it killed the bubble they were in. Rachel blinked and looked away, her fingers tightening their grip on Santana's hand._

_When Santana didn't respond, trying to get enough air in her lungs to continue breathing, Rachel's grip slackened, and she made to take her hand away._

_Loss immediately rippled from her fingers, and Santana made a mad grab to reclaim the contact. Wrapping her hand around her cousin's smaller one, she squeezed tentatively, swallowing when Rachel slowly opened her grip to allow Santana back in._

_Santana stared intently down at the random suitcases and bags that moved past them. Though her eyes searched for Rachel's luggage, the rest of her was vibrating with electricity against the girl next to her._

_Finally, the bright purple suitcase that had been Rachel's for as long as she could remember made an appearance. Their eyes flew back to each other, and in almost silent agreement, they let go at the same time. Santana's hand felt cold, but she took a deep breath and walked forward to haul the suitcase off of the belt. "This all?" she muttered, knowing quite well it was._

"_Yes," Rachel answered quietly, and they stood there awkwardly until a mother and her two young children jostled them as they moved in to grab their luggage._

"_Uh, right," Santana cleared her throat, stepping back, "We should… Go."_

_Rachel nodded, pushing a lock of her hair back, and Santana found herself following the motion with her eyes. "Yes. I'm sure my dads are waiting..." Dropping her hand, she met Santana's gaze tentatively. She looked so __**lost**__._

_Instantly, Santana knew it was up to her to make things right. Slipping the backpack securely onto her back and grabbing the pullout handle of the suitcase, she strode forward and took Rachel's hand securely into her own. Not giving her cousin a chance to pull away, she turned and started leading her out towards where her dads were waiting. Since it was already planned that Santana would be spending the night at Rachel's house, she knew they'd have time to talk. But right now…_

_Santana stopped suddenly, right in front of the entrance to the airport. Successfully preventing herself from running into her, Rachel looked at her with an almost fearful look on her face._

"_Hey." Her smile a little hesitant but hoping it wasn't showing, Santana dropped the suitcase handle and gently brushed Rachel's hair back from her face, "We're okay."_

_A relieved smile bloomed on Rachel's face, and her body immediately relaxed. She gently pressed against Santana's hand. "I really __**did **__miss you, 'Tana," she whispered, then took a step back. "Now," the smaller girl tugged on Santana's hand, "Come __**on**__! I'm ready to get home!"_

_Santana grinned. The strange feeling was back in her stomach, but it was a bit more bearable. She didn't know what was going to happen when they got back to Rachel's house, but she didn't want to dwell on it. Because, right now… _

_She watched as Rachel jumped into her dads' arms. Laughing and smiling broadly, chattering about how much she had missed them, all the while sending Santana shy smiles every now and then, her cousin was a sight for sore eyes._

_Santana smiled, leaning back against the car as she waited. _

_Right now, she was just happy to have her missing piece back._

* * *

Santana took a deep breath. Pushing open the door to the choir room, she closed it softly behind her. Waiting until Rachel looked up from the piano, she smiled cautiously. "Hey."

Rachel smiled back just as tentatively. "Hi."


	15. Chapter 15

Seeing Rachel sitting at the piano, sheet music propped up and ready to be played, it almost looked like she had always been there. That it was completely natural for her to be in the choir room.

That made Santana wonder if she had performed her audition. She hadn't asked Brittany or Quinn or anyone, because she honestly didn't want to know. What song would her cousin have sung? One Santana knew? One that meant something to them? One that meant something to someone _else_?

"You can move closer, you know. If you want to." Rachel offered softly, "You don't need to stay near the door."

"To prevent me from leaving or make it easier for you?" Santana asked, smiling slightly.

Rachel winced. "I'm sorry. I deserve that."

"No," Santana shook her head, walking past Rachel and sitting down in a chair on the floor before the bleachers. She slipped her backpack off, "I'm not mad." Not anymore.

Rachel moved around so she could better face Santana, her hands idly playing with the pleats of her skirt. "I am," her eyes flicked up at Santana before dropping back down to her hands. She drew in a deep breath and lifted her chin again, "At myself, I mean. I'm sorry for running away like that."

Cold spread through Santana's chest. Rachel had _nothing _to say sorry for. "Don't apologize for that," she breathed in, swallowing back sudden roughness in her voice, "I shouldn't have pushed."

It _hurt _to say that, but it was true. Santana had pushed. She'd been selfish. She'd been desperate. She'd been _stupid_.

Rachel's eyes were sad, and she sighed. Standing up, she smoothed down her skirt and slowly started walking towards Santana.

Santana's heart thumped loudly, and she couldn't move when Rachel sat down in the chair next to her. That close, the tension between them seemed to pulse with a mixture of awareness, electricity, and regret.

Rachel gently reached out and took Santana's cast in her hand, her other coming up to slip across the plaster, as if she was testing out the feeling of it. "Does it hurt?" she asked, almost whispering.

Santana stared at her. Feeling her breath skittering, she dug her left hand into the fabric of her jeans to calm herself, hoping Rachel didn't feel her shaking through the cast. Licking her lips, she focused on the concerned gaze that was cutting through her. Her mind raced. "I've had worse," she finally came up with.

And it was true. Broken bones were nothing compared to having her heart ripped out, and besides, her hand was bearable. Though it was past time to retake her medication, she had decided to put it off because she had wanted a clear head for this conversation. Having been almost one hundred percent certain she'd find Rachel alone before glee started, she'd even slipped out of her English class early to prepare herself.

But she hadn't prepared herself for _this_. The ache she felt in her hand was nothing like the ache she felt from Rachel's presence. From having Rachel right next to her. From Rachel _caressing _her.

Rachel nodded, smiling faintly as if she knew where Santana's thoughts had taken her. Instead of setting down her hand like Santana expected, her cousin dropped her gaze back to the red and white cast. With the loss of those deep brown eyes keeping her captive, Santana swallowed.

She was going to die. Her heart was going to explode. Her lungs were going to wither and shrivel away to nothing. With each passing moment, she expected Rachel to realize what she was doing and jump away. Or maybe for herself to realize what was going on and push Rachel away.

Because this was wrong.

It _had _to be wrong.

_But if it was so __**wrong**__, why the hell did it feel so __**right**__? Why had it __**always **__felt so __**right**__?_

Rachel's soft fingers ghosted up and down, her touch making tingles run through Santana's fingers and hand and wrist even through the thick material. "'Tana," she suddenly spoke, her voice low, a curtain of hair obscuring both her face and the tone of her words, and she paused, searching for words, "I imagined this situation hundreds… No, _thousands _of times. I imagined what the first things I would say to you would be… And then I imagined what _you_ would say. I had it all planned out." She took in a deep, shuddering breath, and her fingers stopped moving, clutching at Santana's cast. "But now that I'm _here_… The only thing… The only thing I can think of is how much I… _How much I missed you_." Voice dissolving into a sob at the end of that confession, Rachel shook her head, "And I don't even – I don't even know if I should _tell you that_!"

"_Rache_." Santana's voice caught in her throat, and she shifted, reaching out with her left hand to push Rachel's chin up. Feeling wet tears on the pad of her thumb, her heart broke at the look of pure anguish on her cousin's face. "Rache," she whispered again, sliding her hand around to cup a trembling cheek, "Rache, don't worry. _I missed you too_."


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: **I'm heading back to school tomorrow, so I'm not sure I will be able to continue writing and posting at least one chapter a day. But I'm thinking that might be a good thing. I don't want to burn out, and I think my writing will benefit from some rest. The last few chapters haven't been coming out as easily as the first thirteen or so, and I don't want it to become a chore. This story doesn't deserve that.

* * *

By the time Tina and Artie had arrived for glee, Santana was sitting in her usual spot, scowl firmly on her face, and Rachel was back at the piano, idly looking through the sheet music Mr. Schuester had given her on Friday.

After their blurted admissions, neither one of them had known what to do next. Santana hadn't wanted to push, and she could tell Rachel hadn't wanted to, either. So once they'd calmed down, she'd reluctantly taken her hand back, catching the tremble that had rolled through Rachel when her fingers brushed along her cheek. She _knew_, then, that Rachel was still as desperately attracted to Santana as Santana was to her.

Good, bad, or unknown, they wanted each other.

Santana shivered, flicking her gaze over to Rachel and then away. It felt like the beginning again. Full of impulse and uncertainty. Longing and shame.

But this time was different. It wasn't been there, done that. It was been there, done that, _was it worth it to be there, do that, again_?

And Santana was finding that she didn't care. She'd been through too much to give a fuck if it was _worth _it. She just wanted Rachel. That was all.

Thinking about society, their families, all the baggage they had yet to talk about, and everything else that was speaking _against _them… It was a lot. A _lot_. But did any of that even matter?

Santana chanced another glance at Rachel, and her heart fluttered when a soft smile and softer eyes met hers. No. Right now, none of that seemed to matter.

Looking down, she studied the cast Rachel had been stroking not too long ago. Deciding something, she grabbed her backpack. Keeping it stable with her legs, she unzipped it and took out her notebook, digging around for a pen. Nervousness thrumming through her, it only added to the difficulty of writing with her left hand, but she managed to do it. Biting her lip, she read over the words, _Meet tonight so we can talk? Our old spot?_ then tore the page out and folded it before she could change her mind.

Smoothly rising from her seat, she willfully ignored Tina and Artie who looked up as she passed them. Stopping right in front of Rachel, Santana waited for her to notice her before wordlessly holding out the paper.

Rachel paused. Eyes wide with curiosity and surprise, she reached out and took it, offering a shy smile before opening it. Soon, a blush rose on her cheeks, and she snapped her gaze up to meet Santana's. Grabbing the pen resting on the piano, she quickly scribbled lower on the page and then tore it off. Handing it back, her brown eyes shone.

Letting out an internal sigh of relief, Santana dipped her head and slowly turned around, walking back to her seat. Glaring at Tina and Artie, daring them to say anything, she sat down, and read the note. _I agree. Six o'clock tonight works fine. _

Good, bad, or unknown, they'd finally be able to have their talk.

...But though that was important and needed to be done, Santana couldn't help but wonder what the rest of the night would be like. Because even though it had been only a simple exchange of notes, the outcome felt like they had set up a date. And, remembering Rachel's blush, Santana knew her cousin felt the same way.

Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

Honestly, she didn't know.


	17. Chapter 17

It took Santana about forty five minutes to walk from Brittany's house to the park. Five minutes in, she'd cursed the fact that she hadn't grabbed a scarf or gloves, having foolishly thought her parka alone would be enough. But the light snow that had been falling Sunday morning had since turned into an almost decent snowfall, and she could feel her nose beginning to turn numb. Yeah. A blue nose was _fuckin_' sexy.

Sighing, Santana shoved her hands further into her pockets, happy that she'd at least grabbed the jacket that had big enough pockets to accommodate her cast. If she hadn't, she could only imagine how frozen her fingers would have become, and that wasn't a fun thought. She hadn't realized how cold it was going to be when she'd written the note.

Which made her think she should have asked for Rachel's phone number. Or given her own. Something. Even if the idea of having such an easy way to contact each other felt almost uncomfortably too _close_, as Santana came upon the white covered expanse, her heart sank with the realization that her cousin probably wouldn't show up in this weather. If they had each other's digits, she'd be able to find out before freezing her ass off.

But she didn't, so it was time to stop fucking thinking about it.

Pausing at the entrance, Santana pulled her phone out of her pocket. She had about five minutes to make it to… To _their _spot.

Santana swallowed and pushed back the emotions that threatened to make her either very, very angry or very, very sad. Right after she'd found out that the Berrys had moved, Santana had run straight to the park from her house, tearing through the trees and down the main path until she'd reached their 'secret' path. She'd ended up tripping and scraping her palms and knees something bad scrambling through the brush, but she knew, she _knew_ that Rachel had left her something in their hidden cache.

An hour later, after she'd dumped out the contents of the little tin box and searched every single inch of the small clearing they'd claimed as theirs, she'd barely registered the growing shadows as the sun had started falling below the horizon. Finally, when it became too dark to see anything else than the barest difference of tree versus bush, Santana had been forced to give up. She'd collapsed to her knees, sobbing so hard she'd had trouble breathing as she shoved everything back into the tin. Somehow making it back to the path and her house without really knowing how she had done so, she'd never gone back.

Until now.

Santana was starting to think she was certifiably fucking insane for suggesting that spot as where they should meet up. Seriously, what the _fuck _had she been thinking?

Taking out the flashlight she'd swiped from Brittany's father's garage, she stepped off the main path, boots instantly sinking into some freshly fallen snow, and slipped behind the big hickory tree. Even though the snow wasn't quite reaching through the trees enough to be truly hazardous, the snow clouds weren't making things easy. Still, she doubted she would ever forget the way there.

Maybe two minutes late, she ducked under the fallen sycamore that served as the marker of the clearing, and instantly found it hard to breathe. Memories, both good and bad, threatened to overwhelm her, and she didn't know if she was going to cry from pain or nostalgia. But before she could figure out what the predominant feeling was, Rachel straightened from where she had been leaning against the tree they'd carved their names into when they were nine.

"Hi," Rachel smiled softly, eyes shining in the light from the flashlight.

Santana instantly clicked the light off and pushed it back into her jeans pocket. It wasn't as easy to see anymore, but she didn't care. Walking over to the large rock that had always been her favorite place to sit, she dropped down, leaving enough space for Rachel if she wanted it. "Hey," she replied tersely, clenching her jaw. Yeah, this had been a really fucking good idea. She was _not _comfortable being there.

After a couple of seconds, Rachel joined her on the rock. "You really came," she commented lightly.

Santana raised her eyebrows. "You thought I wouldn't?"

"Mmm…" Rachel paused, brushing hair that had fallen from her beanie away from her eyes, "Let me disclaim that with I wasn't sure _I _would be here."

Santana nodded. That didn't surprise her. "I see you figured that out."

"I did." Rachel paused, and the sounds of nature intruded for a couple of seconds before her soft voice captured all of Santana's attention again, "I know it may be too soon for this, jumping straight into it, but I _need_ you to know. Please. Believe me. I didn't know we were going to move."

"What?" Santana's heart squeezed, and she stared at her cousin.

Rachel closed her eyes and shifted to the side. Burying her hands into her pockets, she tilted her head in Santana's direction, though didn't look at her. "I came home from school. That… That bad day, remember? When you wanted to skip class to come see me and I said no?" Rachel swallowed, and she seemed to draw into herself, "I… I came home and they had packed everything up. There were these two huge moving vans in the driveway, and before I could even figure out what was going on, Dad took my phone away and took out the S-card. He… He let me keep the phone because it had pictures of you on it, but… But other than that, I couldn't even write a note or, or anything. And…" Rachel almost smiled, opening her eyes and meeting Santana's gaze, shrugging with small, helpless, jerks of her shoulders, "We left."

Santana could barely understand what the reality of her words was. She… She hadn't known? Her leaving _wasn_'_t _the reason why she'd told her no? Her leaving _wasn't_ the reason why Rachel said not to skip class to go see her?

Rachel hadn't known?

Rachel hadn't known.

_She hadn't fucking known_.

A giant, loud sob pushed its way out of her mouth before she could stop it.

For almost three years she'd thought Rachel had known she was leaving. That she had _chosen _not to tell her, that it had been her _choice_ not to leave any note. That the reason she had said not to meet up was because she was too much of a _fucking coward _to face Santana.

_But to find out that wasn't true…?_

Cold fingers slid down her face to cup her cheeks, pulling her head up from her own hands. "Oh, '_Tana_," Rachel breathed, gently pushing her bangs away from her eyes and wiping away some of the tears that successfully leaked out, "Baby, I didn't… I can't even _imagine_…" She looked so heartbroken that it broke Santana's heart all over again, "But I _didn't_."

"You didn't, you didn't _know_," Santana repeated to herself, trying to hang onto the words. It just… The reality was…

She felt sick. How could she have thought Rachel was capable of hurting her like that? How could she have thought so little of her?

_Dammit_. She was ashamed of herself. Her stomach roiled. She felt like she was going to throw up.

Yes. She was going to throw up, and then she was going to go home and tell her parents that they were _wrong_ about _everything _they had told her –

Wait. The. Fuck. Up.

Her. Parents.

Santana started trembling for a different reason. _Those fucking bastards_!

She knew for a _fact _that her parents had been in contact with Rachel's dads up until the time they had disappeared. They would have _known_ the Berrys' plan. And now, looking back, they had _conveniently_ kept her busy all that afternoon and evening, making it _impossible _for her to find out what was happening across town.

Fury roared through her, making her head light. _Damn _them! They had known what she had thought, and they had done _nothing_ to tell her otherwise.

The familiar feeling of anger brought her up to her feet, yanking her away from Rachel. Unable to form words with the level of pain, betrayal, hate, and hurt she was feeling, Santana couldn't even _fucking punch anything_!

She stood with her back to Rachel, shaking, hand and jaw clenched, her right arm jumping with the contractions of her muscles. _How could they have – _

Small hands slipped around her waist, thin arms hugging her tightly. Repaying what Santana had done to her earlier, Rachel stepped closer, molding herself to Santana's back. "'Tana, you're okay," she whispered, cutting through her wild thoughts.

Santana froze, another kind of fire instantly replacing the comforting anger, hotter and more consuming. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and her body told her that what it wanted – what _she _wanted – was embracing her. Even through the material of her parka and Rachel's winter coat, she could _feel _her.

Santana had never felt anything like this with anyone else. It had only been Rachel. _Everything _had only been Rachel. And everything would only _be _Rachel.

Another question suddenly became more important than if her parents really knew or not.

She waited until she could speak again, until it wouldn't be too weird to change the subject. She waited until her voice wouldn't crack when she asked what she wanted to. She waited until she could relax into Rachel's arms. "Rache," Santana dipped her head, quiet, "Are you… Seeing anyone?"

She could hear Rachel take a sharp intake of air in, but the smaller girl didn't step away. "No," she whispered.

Santana swallowed as relief and aching need poured through her, all of her focus on the girl holding her; on feeling her breathe, on the weight of her arms around her waist, on _her_.

Rachel's cheek brushed against her neck, making her skin burn, "Are you?" Her fingers dug into Santana's stomach.

Santana didn't hesitate. "No."

It felt like Rachel's body sagged with relief, but she let Santana go and took a couple of steps back. When Santana turned around, she could barely make out an all consuming expression of uncertainty on her cousin's face, the light having faded quickly.

"What are we doing?" Rachel asked her.

Santana didn't have an answer. She didn't know what they were doing, or why, but she knew what she _wanted _to do. Stepping forward slowly, giving the other girl enough time to move away if she was going to, Santana took her hand. "What do you want to do?"

Rachel trembled, and Santana's heart skipped a beat when she took an answering step forward, closing the space in between them again. "I think you know," she whispered.

Santana shook her head. "Not good enough."

Rachel took another step forward, and her free hand came up, sliding gently around Santana's cast. "What do _you _want?" she asked, pressing in closer.

Santana lowered her head, tugging Rachel the rest of the way into her. "_You_…"

"No, you first," Rachel whispered, her voice getting breathy.

Santana smiled. "No, Rache," she leaned in, slowly and softly brushing her lips against Rachel's cheek, close to her mouth, "I was answering your question." Her cousin had another sharp intake of breath, and Santana paused, smiling again. "What do you want?" she asked, tilting down again to kiss Rachel's other cheek.

Rachel squeezed her hand, the one on her cast sliding up to clutch at her bicep before curling around her shoulder. "I want…" she swallowed and licked her lips, raising her head as she pulled Santana down, "_I want you_."


	18. Chapter 18: Interlude

Brittany: _Hey san! Mom n dad wanna kno when ur cuming home. Hugs! 3_

Brittany: _San, do u kno when ur cuming back? Hugs!_

Brittany: _San? Did u forget ur phone sumwhere like me?_

Quinn: _Hey, S. I know you have your phone. B's starting to freak out. Text her back._

Brittany: _San?_

Quinn: _Alright, this isn't funny. B's really worried. Why aren't you answering your phone?_

Quinn: _Seriously, where are you?_

Brittany: _R u lost?_

Quinn: _S, what are you doing? Now you're freaking me out. Where are you? CALL ME. _

Brittany: _Y rnt u speaking 2 me? R u mad at me? If i did nething, im sorry! Just cum back. I dont want u lost nemore._

Quinn: _S, what is going on? Do I need to come get you? Please, call me._

Quinn: _B is over here, crying to me that you're not talking to her. I swear to God that if you're just throwing a tantrum, I will never forgive you. Seriously. S. Stop scaring me. Are you okay?_

Santana: _Dear 'Pink Princess', Santana is not in possession of her phone right now. I believe she is walking down main street. If you were serious about offering to give her a ride, I think you should leave quickly._

Quinn: _Who is this?_

Quinn: _Wait… Rachel? Why do you have her phone?_

Santana: _Yes, this is Rachel Berry. That doesn't matter right now. Please, I know I have no right to ask this, but can you go pick her up? She's not in her right mind, and the snow's getting thicker._

Santana: _Please. I… Don't want anything to happen to her._

Quinn: _…I'm deciding to trust you, but if this turns out to be a hoax or something, I will be VERY ANGRY._

Santana: _Thank you. Please hurry. She left the park ten minutes ago._


	19. Chapter 19

Her tears were starting to freeze on her face. She could hardly feel them, but she knew they were there. Her whole body shaking from her sobs or the cold, she didn't know, Santana knew she was going to walk until she couldn't feel her legs, then walk until they collapsed under her. She was going to walk until she fell, then lie on the ground until she fell asleep, then sleep until hypothermia took care of her.

Because she'd lost Rachel, and nothing else mattered.

A deep, anguished cry erupted from her mouth, and she clenched her eyes shut. It didn't matter to her if she could see where she was going or not. She'd lost Rachel. There was nothing left.

She'd lost Rachel. She'd lost Rachel.

_She'd lost Rachel_.

A pathetic mewl whined from her throat, but she barely cared about how it sounded. She'd already screamed herself hoarse the minute Rachel had left her in _their _clearing, slamming the bottom of her palm and cast against the nearest tree, digging her forehead into the rough bark. She'd hoped Rachel had heard her, wanting her cousin to know just how fucked up she was leaving her. Wanting her to know the sound of her heart breaking. Wanting her to know the anguish she felt. Wanting her to know she knew this was all her own fault. Wanting her to feel _guilty_ for leaving her. Wanting her to _hurt just as much _as she did. Wanting her –

Wanting her to _forgive_ her. To _understand_. _To not judge her. _Wanting her to _still want_ her.

But most of all, she just wanted her to _come_ _back_.

But she hadn't come back.

And now Santana was left with the memory of Rachel's pain, the dimming of her eyes, the loss of her smile.

She hadn't wanted to answer her question, but she knew she _had _to. She hadn't been proud of the words coming out of her mouth, and she'd barely managed to meet Rachel's gaze. But of all the ways she expected her cousin to react, the other girl crying hadn't been it. And Rachel hadn't let her touch her, hadn't let her _explain _that Brittany and Puck had meant _nothing_, that the others had meant even _less_, and Santana hadn't _known _she was ever going to _get Rachel_ _back_.

When Rachel had disappeared, Santana had broken. She'd been empty. _So fucking empty_. She'd needed _something_. And sex was it.

_Fuck_, wasn't that human nature, wanting physical comfort? How the hell was she supposed to know that Rachel hadn't given herself to anyone else? That she'd blindly expected Santana to do the same? That she'd believed in an ideal that Santana wasn't? An ideal Santana _wished _she was?

Rachel had made her feel lower than shit. Ashamed. Like she was _dirty_.

Like she'd _cheated_.

_And that was bullshit. _Fucking bullshit.

But when Rachel hadn't given her a chance to explain, to defend herself, it'd _hurt _when Santana realized she almost believed it too.

That was the painful truth. The way she'd survived the loss of Rachel had ended up taking Rachel away from her. But maybe she deserved it. Maybe Santana didn't _get _to have anything good in her life.

No family, no Cheerios, no identity.

No Rachel.

Without Rachel, everything was meaningless.

Santana didn't know how long she had screamed, but she'd eventually collapsed to her knees from lack of air. Her phone had kept on _damn beeping_, _taunting _her, and in a fit of rage, she'd torn it out of her pocket and thrown it at the tree, not wanting anyone, in any way, being privy to the crashing of her world. Anyone to see how pathetic she was. Catch her shaking and panting with tears that would not _stop_, her heart sucking all the warmth out of her chest.

But eventually, somehow, she'd left. Like the first time she'd left their spot heartbroken, she didn't _remember_ leaving, but she knew _why_ she had left. If she didn't get to have Rachel, she didn't get to have anything that had to do with her. Santana was an all or nothing girl, and Rachel had _always _been all or nothing.

And that's what Santana had.

Nothing.

She _had _nothing, and she _was _nothing.

So she was going to walk until she fell, until she fell asleep, until she slipped away. Until everything was _gone_.

Suddenly, a screeching of tires, slamming of car doors, and two familiar bodies pressed into both sides of her, arms wrapping securely around her.

"Oh, Santana," Quinn's voice whispered into her ear, an uncomfortably warm hand coming up to brush away her bangs and tears that hadn't frozen yet from her eyes, "C'mon, let's get you home."

Sobbing, sudden exhaustion dragging her body down, Santana could only let the two girls half-walk, half-carry her to Quinn's car. Repeating her name over and over in a voice that would have broken her heart if it wasn't already, her best friend almost crawled into her lap as soon as they'd pushed her into the backseat, telling her in no uncertain terms that she was happy she wasn't lost anymore.

That should have made Santana smile. Instead, it made her cry harder, and when Brittany embraced her, bringing her close, all she could think was that the blonde's body was all _wrong_, and she smelled _nothing_ like lemon and honeysuckle.

And that wasn't what Santana _needed_.

It was all she _had_.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: **I know a lot of you are probably unhappy with me, but there's a plan for everything I do. If you recall, Rachel, via Santana's phone, obviously still _cared _about Santana, because why else would she ask Quinn to go pick her up? As for the rollercoaster, this story cannot be all puppy dogs and rainbows. There's a whole lot of issues these girls still need to work out. But I will tell you that after this chapter, the tide has turned more in the girls' favor. Thank you for sticking with me this far, and I hope you stick with me farther yet.

* * *

Mr. Schuester stared uncomprehendingly at her, the lines on his forehead deepening. "I'm… Sorry," he blinked, looking completely blindsided, "Did you just say that you're… You're _quitting_?"

"Yes. Do I need to say it _again_ for you to get it?" Santana frowned at him. With her left hand on her hip and her right pulled in close to her side, she _dared_ the man to press her. She hoped he could get her angry enough to not care about what she was doing.

"What… But…" Mr. Schuester straightened, firming his lips as his eyebrows furrowed. He looked like a fucking kicked puppy. "Santana, forgive me for not being supportive of your decision, but can you tell me _why_? I mean," he ran a hand through his hair, not giving Santana the chance to respond to the question he was asking her, "You're a wonderful singer, and glee club would really be losing something great if you left."

_That _was fucking news to her. She'd only been relegated to background vocals and dancing, so what shit was this? "Whoah, hold up," she snapped, staring at him incredulously, "When have you _ever_ given me the lead? It's always Weezy or Q or St-t-stutters." Bobbing her head, she asked pointedly, "Have you even _heard _me solo?"

Mr. Schuester opened his mouth to immediately refute her claim, but – yeah, thought not, huh, Mr. Schue? – he couldn't. "Okay, look," he tried again, looking suitably cowed, "I'm sorry about that. You're right. I should be more supportive of letting _everyone _get a turn to sing lead. If that's what this is about, I can promise you that'll change."

Santana stared at him. The man was fuckin' transparent.

Mr. Schuester had _never_ liked her, she knew this. And she had never cared. His opinion didn't _mean _anything to her, after all, but this wasn't just sad. It was insulting. Insulting like _hell_. Her anger bubbled up.

"Alright, Mr. Schuester," Santana raised her left hand to accompany her words, leaning forward and speaking as if she talking to a child: slow and over enunciated, "I'm'a gonna lay this down for you, as you seem not to be _gettin_' me. I. Don't. _Care_. If you want your damn twelfth member, go. Find. Someone. _Else_."

Because that was it. The reason he was trying so hard to keep her. Not because of _her_, specifically, but what number she with the rest of glee added up to. With the addition of Rachel, glee had _finally _gotten enough people to compete at the upcoming Sectionals.

And now they didn't.

Turning on her heel, she gave him one more look over her shoulder, and stalked down the hall towards her locker. She needed to throw her backpack in there before she went to Miss Pillsbury's office.

It wasn't like she _hadn't _looked forward to Sectionals. Because she had. She hadn't told anyone, but she loved singing. She loved dancing. She did it at first only because Quinn had dragged her and Brittany along to keep an eye on her boyfriend, Finn, but pretty soon she'd started going because she _wanted _to.

And now there was no way she could go back. Not if Rachel…

_Rachel_. Her heart spasmed, and she swallowed, slapping her hand against her locker to slide it over to the lock. Gritting her teeth, she managed to spin her combination after a couple of false starts, because there was no way she was going to ask for any help.

She opened the door. Slinging her backpack off her shoulder and turning back to push it inside, she stopped. Her phone…

_Her phone was lying on the bottom of her locker?_

Hesitantly, she picked it up, noticing a folded piece of paper it had been sitting on. Her heart pounded, and she stared at the paper, clutching her phone tightly in her hand. The _only_ person she could think of being responsible for returning her phone…

Sliding her phone into her pocket, she had to brace her shoulder against the locker next to hers to keep herself upright. Not letting herself think too much so she wouldn't read it, Santana snatched the paper up and unfolded it, tears already ghosting behind her eyes.

It was Rachel's handwriting, and her stomach turned.

'_Tana,_

_I'm sorry. I'm SO sorry. I shouldn't have left you there. You were being completely truthful to me, and I didn't appreciate what it took for you to… Share with me. To share what you did. And when I realized that, I went back to find you._

_But I was too late. You didn't see me, but I saw you. I saw you, and it broke my heart even more than I thought it already had. 'Tana, I've never seen you… Like that, before. And *I* was the one who did it to you. But I was a coward, and I let you go._

_I shouldn't have. I found your phone, and your friends, they were getting so WORRIED about you, like *I* was worried about you, and I hope you can forgive me, but I opened your texts and asked 'Pink Princess', Quinn, to go pick you up. Did she tell you that?_

_Well, it doesn't matter if she did or not. I just needed you safe. I needed you to be OKAY. Not just because I was the one who caused you so… So much pain, but because I need you._

'_Tana, I need you._

_I know we still have a lot to talk about – I KNOW this – but I need you. I don't know if I deserve you after what I did, and I am SO SORRY, so, so SORRY, and I feel HORRIBLE for telling you this after walking away from you, and I would understand completely if you hated me, but… I need you. I've ALWAYS needed you._

_If… If you still want to talk to me, I've put my cell phone number into your cell. I would understand if you deleted it, but I hope you don't. I have a lot to make up for, and if you'll let me, I'll do everything I can to make it up to you._

_Because…_

_…_

_Because I have to. I…_

_I'm sorry._

_Sincerely,_

_Rachel Berry_


	21. Chapter 21

_Santana was staring at the ceiling when Rachel slid into the bed next to her. "'Tana?" she whispered, rustling noises telling Santana she had rolled over to face her._

_Looking out of the corner of her eye, Santana whispered back, "Yeah?"_

_Rachel didn't answer right away. Instead, she shifted a little closer. "Do you…"_

_Santana, taking a deep breath, rolled onto her side to face Rachel as well. "Yeah?" she softly repeated._

"_Mmm… Do you…"_

_Rachel was very nervous. Santana could tell. Biting her lip, she slowly slid her hand over, bumping her knuckles against the back of Rachel's hand. Trembling, she entwined her fingers with her cousin's, her touch burning. Her heart pounded in her ears. "Rache…" she licked her lips, searching Rachel's gaze, "Something changed, didn't it?"_

_Brown eyes fluttered closed, and Rachel nodded._

* * *

_I'm in the library_.

Santana found her in the biographies, the stacks in the back. Standing at the end of the row, she stared, watching as brown eyes flickered with recognition.

Rachel opened her mouth, but within three steps, Santana had covered it with her own.

Santana drank her in, tasting her saliva and tongue and lips and teeth and breath, feeling her hands curl on her breastbone.

"'Tana," Rachel pulled away, her shoulders shaking, "I…"

Santana shook her head, pressing her forehead against hers. Her voice sounding like miles away, she took a step back, "No, Rache. Not now."

Tears welled up, slipping down, but Rachel nodded.

Surging forward and stealing another desperate kiss, warm lips parting automatically under hers, Santana ripped herself away. Retreating and slipping into the next row, she ran trembling fingers across her keyboard._ Jesus, Rache. You must know I've always needed you too_.

Behind her, she heard a beep and sharp intake of air, followed by a heavy, shuddering exhalation. "_'Tana…_"

Santana's heart pulsed in time to the wetness sliding down her cheeks. Slipping her phone back into her pocket, she forced herself to walk away.


	22. Chapter 22

Santana sat on the counter of the bathroom nearest Miss Pillsbury's office, scrolling through her text messages from the night before. Brittany's were breaking her heart, and Quinn's just made her feel terrible. They didn't always get along, but when push came to shove, Quinn was always there for her.

Like she was the night before.

Sighing, Santana dropped her hand to rest it against her thigh. Throwing her head back, she felt the cold surface of the mirror. What was she doing, hiding in the bathroom?

Her thoughts were everywhere, anxiety thrumming through and making it impossible to settle herself. She could barely hang onto anything, her stomach and heart flipping every three seconds. Rachel's face and body and memories of that day, yesterday, the day before, years ago; they all swirled and whirled around in her head, making her feel both mentally and physically nauseous.

The nausea combined with the exhaustion that blanketed her whole body, her hand humming with a low level of continual discomfort. Her trek through the snow hadn't done herself any favors, and she was lucky that she hadn't gotten sick.

Her phone vibrated, momentarily centering her thoughts. She brought her chin down. Seeing that the new text was from Puck, she went ahead and clicked it open.

_U quit glee?_

What…? How the fuck did he know that? _Who told u?_

_Fuck. U serious?_

Santana growled. _No_, she was fucking _kidding_. Stupid Puck, he didn't even answer her question. Well, whatever. She did _not _want to talk about this. _Fuck off._

_No, U fuck off! Wut the hell, S? We were goin' 2 sectionals and now we're not. Wut the fuck? I thot u WANTED 2 go._

Fucking_ prick_. Before she smashed her phone against the wall, Santana turned it off. They could find that April Rhodes chick Mr. Schuester had dragged in before for all she cared. Old as hell, but whatever. Her mouth still worked when it wasn't wrapped around an alcohol bottle or some old rich guy's junk. With her, at least they'd have their _fucking precious _twelve members.

And then they'd leave her the _fuck_ alone. Because Puck sure as hell wouldn't be the last. And once Quinn and Brittany found out, that would be a whole 'nother thing entirely…

She dropped her head back again, gritting her teeth, feeling pressure in her chest again. What the hell was she _doing_? What the hell had happened to her _life_?

God dammit, she wanted her angst to _stop_. She wanted _herself _back.

…But _who_ was that? Who was Santana Francesca Lopez?

She had so many versions of herself, she didn't even know. Papí's little girl. Rachel's monster. Family disgrace. Slut. HBIC. Gleek. And the shell she was now left with. None of them felt _right_.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Santana heard the warning bell ring. She was supposed to be meeting Miss Pillsbury, but all she could think about doing was nothing. _Nothing. _The guidance counselor would want to continue the 'talk' from before, and Santana's mind was already so mentally fucked that nothing good would come out of it. And then Principal Figgins would get involved, and probably the police; for the _damages_.

Fuck fuck fuck. The police meant her probation officer.

Rubbing her hand over her face, Santana let herself breathe a slight sigh of relief when she realized she hadn't missed their monthly appointment. It was _next _Friday. Not last. At the end of the week. She'd _have _to be there, no matter what.

If she was still alive by then, of course. Because, god _damn_, she didn't know how much more her body and mind could _take _of all the _shit _that was going on.

Ah, fuck. _Again_. What the hell was she going to do about her address on file with the police? She was a minor, and they'd probably force her to go home or some shit. She knew her father was already probably licking his wounds, but he could fuck off, for all she cared. Same with her mother. And Miguel. Fucking Miguel. What the hell had been _his_ problem?

No, the only ones Santana missed were Cesar and Mariel. They were completely innocent in the whole thing, and had never treated her any differently than as an older sister. And they were probably wondering where she was. Santana sighed. When she turned her phone back on, she would e-mail them. That might make some of her anxiety go away.

She could hear a couple of random girls come in and out of the bathroom, trying to beat the beginning of class, but she ignored them. As long as a teacher didn't come in, she was safe.

Safe… Safe from what? Santana snorted, resettling her shoulders and head against the mirror. It seemed like the only thing she wasn't safe from was herself. Because all of her problems could be traced back to her. _All _of them.

…It was only a matter of time until other people started realizing that, too. People like Brittany. Quinn. Miss Pillsbury and Mr. Schuester. Puck.

Puck… _Damn_. Santana knew he didn't deserve how she had just treated him. Not after what he had done for her. What he _was _to her. _Who _he was to her.

Looking down at the phone she'd dropped into her lap, Santana sighed and turned it back on. Waiting for it to completely load all the way, she noted the ringing of the last bell as she quickly opened the Puck text thread. Reading back over his last text, she started feeling a headache growing at the front of her head. Regardless, she typed out a half-ass response. _It's complicated. Look, i just don't want 2 talk about it now. _Hopefully he'd pick up on the implied apology. She settled in to wait for his reply.

Santana had been surprised when Puck had suddenly shown up to join glee after Kurt had joined the football team, Matt and Mike in tow. They'd been hooking up pretty regularly, even after she'd broken up with him over his credit score, and he had never given her any inclination that he was interested. In fact, he'd teased her mercilessly. She hadn't even _known_ he could sing until the Acafellas thing Mr. Schuester had started after Quinn had tried to recruit that short-ass choreographer. However, she _had _noticed that he loved doing it, and not-so-secretly looked forward to the competitions. It was no wonder he was mad at her.

But still, how had he _known _already? Had Mr. Schuester told him? What a fucking guilt trip manipulation if that was what happened. Use her 'boyfriend' against her. But Puck wasn't her boyfriend. Not anymore. He wasn't even close to what she wanted…

Her phone vibrated, and she opened the new text. _Fair, but we WILL talk. Where r u?_

She smirked. _Girl's bathroom._

_Kinky. Wanna quickie? Free period._

Puck, Puck, Puck. Santana pushed down the immediate feelings of guilt she felt. _No thanx. Find sum other pussy._

_U sure? C'moooon. For old time's sake._

For being such a 'sex shark', he seemed pretty hung up on her. _Try ashley. I kno for a fact she'll hump whatever has legs, and i'm pretty sure she also has free period._

_Cheerio ashley?_

_Cheerio ashley._

_Hot damn. Catch ya later, satan._

Santana rolled her eyes, smirking faintly. Good old Puck. An annoying bro, but a bro just the same. Still, after that weekend, she was a little surprised he had made an overture at her. Well… Not so much, if she thought about it. He was probably just fishing for a name, sneaky bastard.

Slipping her phone back into her pocket, she felt her headache make itself known again. Rubbing her forehead, she closed her eyes. She knew it wasn't going to go away anytime soon.

Mmm… She'd just become a pimp. But Ashley was a big girl. She could handle it.

Ashley. Cheerio Ashley.

_Cheerio _Ashley.

It wasn't like she cared about the girl. She cared about the Cheerios. Would it ever get easier, not being a part of them?

If someone had asked her years ago, before high school, if she thought cheerleading would have ever become one of the most important things in her life, she would have laughed. Cheerleading had been fun. Athletic. Something to do when Rachel was busy with all her music and dance lessons. Something for Rachel to watch her perform and support, like Santana watched and supported her cousin. Something she could be proud of.

But when Rachel left, it had suddenly become different. Another thing to obsess over and distract herself with. It had become her life. A gateway to popularity and sex, parties and alcohol… All a brokenhearted Santana needed to survive.

…Was Santana brokenhearted again? Still? After yesterday, last night… She'd felt like she was continually dying. But after her phone and Rachel…

Could… Could she _trust _Rachel?

Santana's hand tightened in the fabric of her shirt, the useless fingers of her right hand uncooperative as they tried to follow but were too stiff and sore to move.

In as much as she wanted and ached for Rachel, somehow she felt too ragged to be able to survive any more run-ins with her. Saying that, the taste of her mouth was still thick on her tongue. Her heart trembled, and she bit down gently on her knuckle, willing the painful arousal that flowed through her again to go away.

What had happened? In the clearing, they'd been so _close_. One kiss, and it was more than she ever remembered it being. Rachel's being had made her weak, the feeling of her like _coming home_.

They'd held each other for countless moments, heads bowed and nestled against each other, drinking the other in.

For the first time in a long time, they weren't _wrong_.

They weren't cousins, weren't not supposed to be. They were just Rachel and just Santana.

But then ugly reality had crashed through, tearing open her jaggedly stitched Frankenstein heart.

Yes, Santana was still in love with Rachel. She always was. She always would be. But Rachel's expectations had almost killed her. Killed _them_.

And as much as she hated to think of it, Santana was afraid that the more Rachel discovered about her, this 'new' 'Tana, she wouldn't want her.

And who was the 'new' Rache? They had years of being different people, and Santana couldn't imagine Rachel being the exact same person she knew. While part of her didn't want to explore Rachel's past, as it made her stomach twist with something that felt awfully like jealousy and reluctance mixed with insecurity, ignoring the past three years wouldn't be _real_.

But Santana didn't _want _to hear about her life. She wanted Rachel all to herself, to jump straight back into the reality they'd forged together years ago. Everything else could go away. No matter how unrealistic that was, the small girl inside Santana cried for deliberate ignorance.

Avoidance.

Santana drew in a shuddering breath. How could you want someone so much it hurt but want to run away from them at same time? How was that even _possible_?

There was no question that Rachel had her. There was no question that Santana wanted her back. That if she snapped her fingers, Rachel would be hers.

…But would the reality be worth it?

She swallowed. With crystal clarity, she knew the ball was completely in her court.

And she still had a lot to think about.

Even if Rachel _hadn_'_t _known about her sudden move, did Santana want to chance that there was something else the girl hadn't told her?

With how much needed to be discussed between them, they seemed incapable of doing so. The depth of their emotions and… Situation, made it almost impossible to get anything figured out or resolved whenever they were together. They _felt _too much.

Neither she nor Rachel knew what the hell to do. Knowing what each other and themselves wanted was nothing compared to what could _actually _happen. She and Rachel were still minors. There was nothing stopping Rachel from moving away again.

Santana's fingernails bit into her palm. She didn't know if she'd be able to survive that happening again.

But the possibility was definitely there. Eventually, if she hadn't already, or if Santana's parents hadn't called them, Rachel would have to tell her parents that she and Santana were in contact. But her uncles would have had to _already _know the possibility of that. How the fuck could they not?

…Why the fuck _had_ they moved back? She still didn't know. And that bothered her. If the Berrys had deemed it important enough to move away in the first place, what _horribly_ _bad _thing could have happened back at their new place to make them move back?

She wouldn't fool herself into thinking that maybe they just didn't care anymore. Her life wasn't that simple. That puppy dogs and rainbows.

But if Rachel were to disappear again, shouldn't Santana hold onto her as tight as she could, for as long as she could? Shouldn't she just say _fuck it _and wade in and claim Rachel as her own, consequences be damned?

But _would _they be able to make it work with all of the secrecy and stress they'd have to deal with?

It wasn't like before, when they were young enough to believe they were invincible. This was real shit. Santana clenched her eyes shut, the pounding in her head tripling. Real shit with real consequences.

It wasn't like being involved with another girl wasn't bad enough. She and Rachel were _related_. Which brought up too many questions to count: What would happen if people found out they were cousins? If they forged a relationship and got discovered? Could they survive? Could _she _survive?

…Was it even _legal _for them to be together?

Involuntarily, Santana's hand shot out and punched the paper towel dispenser set onto the wall next to her. Fortunately, it was softer than the wall had been, but it didn't stop her from breathing deeply with pain and anger.

God dammit, _this wasn't fair_. Why was one love _wrong _over the others? _Why couldn't she just have the **person** she wanted?_ The person who completed her? Why did everyone have to judge and condemn? It wasn't like they'd just randomly _decided _to fall in love with each other. And it wasn't like it had been _easy_.

It hadn't been an _easy fucking decision_ for the two of them to acknowledge or accept what had grown between them. They'd been fucking _terrified_. She hadn't eaten for a week after the first time they kissed, her body overwhelmed with guilt and fear that her parents would look at her and see what they had done. They'd avoided each other for a week more before the ache became too great, and they'd cried in each other's arms as they _swore _they _couldn_'_t _do anything _ever again_.

But the pull had been too strong, the closeness they'd always had fuckin' _scary_ in how fast it grew into need.

A need they still had.

Santana bowed her head, cradling her slightly pained hand to her chest, feeling the frantic thumping of her heart. It would be so _easy _to let go and cry again. Her body wanted it. Her _heart _wanted it.

But she wasn't going to.

Taking a deep breath, she held it in for a couple of beats before letting it out. Pushing herself from the counter, she ran her hand under the cold water, bending and flexing her fingers so the small amount of stiffness setting in wouldn't stay. All things told, her punch had been pretty tame.

Looking up at the mirror, Santana wordlessly studied her reflection. Her features looked drawn and pale, the bags under her eyes noticeable even with the makeup she'd put on earlier. She looked tired.

Santana sighed and moved her gaze away. Pulling a paper towel from the now dented dispenser, she awkwardly dried her hand off, dropping the used paper into the trash.

She had made a decision.

Before she and Rachel could reconnect, Santana needed to deal with Principle Figgins and her punishment. Which included what she would do about her parents and her probation officer. Mr. Schuester, who would undoubtedly crawl back to her and beg her to come back to glee, would have to wait.

She brought her hand up, scanning for any telltale color over her knuckles.

Hopefully Rachel would understand. Santana wouldn't… _Couldn_'_t _avoid her, but before they could do anything, they needed to become friends again. They needed some way of coexisting without imploding. Santana would still ache for her, but they needed to go slow. She was going to be stubbornly adamant about that, no matter if it was selfish. Rachel would have to deal. It would be the only way to give herself some space in her own mind. And mental space was what she needed, desperately.

She opened and closed her hand a couple of times. It was fine. A little red, but easily hidden under her tan. Which was a good thing, because when she went to Miss Pillsbury's office, she didn't want the other woman noticing.

Fishing the note out of her pocket, Santana pushed open the bathroom door. During the short walk to the guidance counselor's office, she wondered just how well she'd be able to follow through with her decision.

Rachel had always been more than she could ever prepare herself for.


	23. Chapter 23

When Santana got to the guidance counselor office, Mr. Schuester was sitting in one of the chairs normally reserved for students. He and Miss Pillsbury looked to be in a deep conversation, and she couldn't help thinking it was about her. No, fuck that. She wasn't in the mood for Mr. Prissy Vest's manipulative bullshit and his pathetic attempts at groveling. That shit was going to have to _wait_, dammit. Turning on her heel, she made it halfway down the hall before the sound of a door opening made her heart sink.

"Santana?"

_Fuck_. Pasting a pinched smile on her face, Santana reluctantly walked back to where Miss Pillsbury waited. Sliding wordlessly past her into the room, she glared balefully at Mr. Schuester. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Santana." He could barely meet her gaze, the pussy.

Ignoring the chair next to him, she backed up until her back hit the wall, leaning against it. Watching Miss Pillsbury sit down behind her desk, she waited. Neither adult was capable of silence, too in love with their own voices, so she knew it wouldn't take long for one of them to speak.

Miss Pillsbury cleared her throat. "Uhm, Santana," she bobbed her head in the direction of the empty seat, "There's a chair there for you, uhm, if you would like to use it."

"No thanks," she stared disinterestedly back at her.

Mr. Schuester shifted. Narrowing her eyes at him, Santana addressed the guidance counselor, "Why the hell is he here? Don't I get that 'confidentiality' shit?"

"_Language_, Santana. And, well, Mr. Schuester is just concerned – "

Mr. Schuester held up a hand to stop her. "It's okay, Miss Pillsbury. I can speak for myself."

"Yeah, your mouth never stops moving," Santana scoffed. She couldn't help it. The young teacher had always been a convenient object of verbal ridicule.

"_Santana_, there's no need for remarks like that." Ohh, there goes Miss Pillsbury speaking for Mr. Schuester again. That sure lasted long.

Mr. Schuester shook his head, and Miss Pillsbury's eyes widened. With a chagrinned expression, she looked down, pressing her lips together. Mr. Schuester's gaze lingered on her for a bit before he turned to Santana. "Santana," he frowned, pasting what he probably thought was a compassionate, _relatable_ expression on his face, "Miss Pillsbury is correct. I'm concerned about you."

Santana stared at him incredulously. "Oh, so you're _concerned_. Well, _that _makes it perfectly _okay_ for this invasion of privacy. Will you publish the notes from my sessions as a book, too? Maybe in the _American Journal of Psychiatry_? Win some awards or shit off my '_issues_'?" She raised her eyebrows, moving her head as accent to her words.

Mr. Schuester took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly. "Santana – "

"You know what? No. _No_." Pushing herself away from the wall, Santana swung around to glare at Miss Pillsbury, "I don't want him here. This is _my _session. Not his."

"_Santana_." Ooh, now he sounded _frustrated_.

So fucking what? She ignored him. "Mr. Schuester is only my _Spanish _teacher now, and there is _nothing _you and I could _ever _talk about that would involve his class."

Miss Pillsbury swallowed, her huge ass eyes flicking back and forth between them. "Well, I… That _is _true…" she offered reluctantly.

"What?" Mr. Schuester looked like the older woman had just betrayed him.

Miss Pillsbury smiled apologetically at him. "I'm sorry, Will, but she has a point."

_Duh_. "Of _course _I do."

His mouth dropped open, and Mr. Schuester looked on the verge of speaking many times. Red crept up on his face, due to anger or embarrassment, Santana didn't know, but it wasn't like she cared. Looking back and forth between her and Miss Pillsbury, he suddenly covered his face with his hand. "Alright…" he spoke slowly, standing up, "I get it. You're right. I apologize… For intruding." Turning to walk out, he paused as he came up beside Santana. Ignoring her triumphant smirk, he lowered his voice, "I know you love glee, Santana. It's where you belong. Without the Cheerios anymore, we're all you have. We're a team. And your team wants you back."

Santana blinked, holding back an angry retort. Fucking hell! _Manipulation_. Pure and fucking _manipulation_. Low, low, _low_.

Giving her one more pointed look, he finished with, "The door's always open," and walked out, shaking his head.

Santana let out a deep breath of air. Anger and shame burned through her, and a roaring noise engulfed her head. Damn him. _Damn _him. The… The fucking _nerve _of the bastard! Lashing out at the first thing she could see, one of Miss Pillsbury's chairs went crashing into the wall, the shock of impact traveling up her leg.

"_Santana Lopez_!" Miss Pillsbury's voice was especially shrill as she stood up with a bang of her chair against the bookcase behind her, "You stop that right now!"

Santana growled, clenching her fist. "You didn't hear what the _fuck _he said! _No one _gets to treat me like that. He's lucky I didn't fucking hit _him_, the bastard!" _Yes_. Anger was better than depression, god dammit!

Barely taking a second to suck in enough air to continue ranting, she glared directly at Miss Pillsbury, the muscles in her body locking into place, "I am sick and fucking _tired _of being treated like I am someone to _use_. Only needed when _convenient_. Because _I am **not**_!"

As her words echoed in the small office, Santana realized what she was doing and clicked her mouth shut. There was _no _way she was going to… She was _not _going to fall apart in front of Miss Pillsbury! She still had _some _fucking dignity.

And she was going to hang onto it as long as she could.

Miss Pillsbury studied her warily. Finally, when even Santana was getting annoyed with the sound of the heavy breathing she couldn't stop as she got air back in her lungs, the guidance counselor nodded and gave her a nervous half smile. "Wow, well, it sounds like you have a lot of deep feelings, huh?"

Painful laughter bubbled up in her chest, and Santana stumbled backwards, holding her stomach as it started to squeeze with the force of her shaking. Back slamming into the wall, she slid down to the floor.

What the fuck? _Deep feelings_? No _shit_. _No_, Santana was _emotionless_.

Her lungs were starting to constrict the longer her laughing went on, but she couldn't _stop_. No matter how painful it was becoming for her body, it was a release. And obviously her body wanted it, no matter what kind of release it was.

But it wasn't until Miss Pillsbury gently set a Kleenex box down next to her that Santana realized her painful deep, shuddering _laughter_ had turned into painful deep, shuddering _sobs_.


	24. Chapter 24

Sitting on the bench overlooking the frozen pond, Santana idly watched the adventurous kids and their parents who were brave enough to test the thickness of the ice starting their winter ice skating early. Taking a sip from the coffee she had detoured on the way there to buy, she appreciated the warmth that started in her throat and headed downwards.

She felt happily drained. The release her crying jag in Miss Pillsbury's office had given her had left her strangely relaxed once all of the tears had stopped. Though she'd managed to keep her mouth shut and not babble like a fricken' _idiot_, she'd achieved a big easing of the tension that had been tying her body in knots. The pressure in her lungs and head had lessened, and she could _breathe _again.

Also, awesomely, another side effect of being an emotional pussy, she'd found, had also turned out to be a good thing: she'd freaked Miss Pillsbury out so much that it had overwhelmed her. So, not only had she sent her home for the day, incredibly _early_, but the woman had also promised to talk to Principal Figgins about postponing the meeting with Santana's parents. Santana had been tempted on asking her to postpone Mr. Schuester for _forever_, but she had worried that the reappearance of her attitude would make the guidance counselor change her mind about the freedom.

But because Brittany was still at school, and Santana knew the blonde's parents wouldn't think highly of her skipping, even if excused, she had had to find something to do for the rest of the morning and afternoon. She'd hung out at the coffee shop for a little while until the fat guy in the corner who kept on staring at her got _way _too creepy to stand anymore. She'd even checked behind her to make sure he hadn't followed her when she left, he was _that _creepy.

She took another sip.

And then came the park. The weather was a lot nicer than it had been the night before, with sun and shining snow instead of clouds and a snow storm. And since she was on the other side of the park, she was doing a good job of telling herself she wasn't uncomfortable.

A little girl bundled up in a ridiculously big coat chattered happily at an older boy that was probably her brother, obviously daring him to a race as the two kids sped up. A smile unconsciously came to Santana's lips, and she cheered silently when the girl won. She could tell the boy had thrown the race, but he had done it so skillfully that the girl was oblivious.

How many times had Santana done that for Rachel? Many more times than Rachel had ever figured out, that was for sure.

Her cousin had always been smaller than her, and though no less athletic, she'd channeled her energy into ballet and dance while Santana enjoyed the rough and tumble lifestyle of a tomboy more. They'd always enjoyed teasing each other about their pastimes, daring each other with wide smiles and loud laughter that the other couldn't do it half as well. Because of their rivalry, Santana had found herself attending at least five ballet classes with Rachel even though she had never really enjoyed them. Rachel's dancing classes though… They had been fun.

And Rachel had surprised her. Though she didn't like baseball all that much, the small girl apparently had an affinity for tackle football that bordered on mania. Whenever Santana managed to convince her to come outside, all the neighborhood boys would immediately try to call her for their team. Santana'd always been proud of that. _Her _cousin was the star tackler.

But when Santana had joined cheerleading, Rachel had drawn the line. Even though she was the perfect size for the lifts, she'd never volunteered or agreed to join in any of the practices. She didn't mind watching them, though, and Santana had never turned down modeling her uniform for her…

Santana smirked, shaking her head. Shifting to switch the leg she had crossed, she watched as the girl, now joined by other kids whose parents were being awesome enough to let them skip school, seemed to be organizing an epic game of ice skating red rover. Ooh… Knowing from personal experience how fun _and _how dangerous the game could be, Santana dropped her leg to sit forward. Even if there were plenty of parents around, it wouldn't hurt to be extra vigilant.

She glanced down at her shoes, grimacing. Though her high heeled boots were fucking awesome and sexy, they weren't the best for traipsing through snow or slipping on ice, either. So, kiddies, she thought, sitting back but keeping her attention on the pond, don't make Auntie 'Tana break a leg saving your asses, kay?

Yeah… Wouldn't go so well with her already broken hand.

Sighing, Santana zipped up the rest of her jacket after setting her coffee down next to her on the bench, using her cast as a weight on the bottom to straighten out the zipper as she pulled.

All things told, she seemed to be doing pretty well with only one hand. Paper towel dispensers weren't hard enough to daunt it, and she'd used her foot to kick Miss Pillsbury's chair, which, because those impulses had been immediate before she could stop them, told her she was going to be fine. Even if attacking inanimate objects wasn't the _best _of things to do, at least she was secure in the fact that she wouldn't be hurting herself too badly if she were to do so again.

Pulling her hair out from the collar of her jacket, she picked up her coffee again. The game of red rover was now underway, and thankfully only laughter and parts of childish taunts were reaching her ears as they all looked unharmed. Brought back memories…

When was the last time she had gone ice skating? She knew she had the winter before Rachel's… Disappearance… But hadn't she gone much more recently? Tilting her head, Santana tried to jog her memory.

Oh. That was right. Last year, with Brittany and Quinn and the other Cheerios. One of Sue's insane training sessions. It was a wonder that no one had gotten seriously sliced up, with what she had made them do, but they'd survived. And, hours later, after she and Brittany and Quinn had dragged themselves to Quinn's mother's car, almost collapsing into the seats while swearing to _never _go ice skating again, Santana had tugged Brittany into her bedroom to kiss her for the first time.

A small smile played on her lips as she remembered what had happened.

When Brittany hadn't responded, standing frozen without kissing her back, Santana _freaked_. It had taken her _months _to convince herself that sleeping with a different girl wouldn't be any worse than sleeping with a guy. That it wouldn't... Depress her. And she'd been _sure _that the blonde had been flirting with her.

But, before Santana could pull back, Brittany mumbled against her mouth, "Is this because I'm sleeping over?"

"_What_?" Santana jerked back, staring at her friend.

Brittany's bangs fell over one eye as she tilted her head, blue eyes searching Santana's face, "Did you kiss me because I'm sleeping over? Because of the same reason we have pillow fights and play Truth or Dare?"

Santana flushed. "Uhm, no, B," she crossed her arms, pulling them protectively into her chest, "I didn't kiss you because you're sleeping over."

"So you'd kiss me even if I went home?"

"I hope you don't, but I'd understand if you wanted to…"

"No, no." Brittany shook her head. Taking a step forward, she looked shyly at Santana, "Would you kiss me even if I went home?"

Santana blinked slowly. "Yeah," she nodded, "Even if I knew you were going home, I'd… I'd want to kiss you."

Brittany's shy look turned into a shy smile. "Okay," she reached out, taking Santana's hand, "I want to kiss you too." Then she'd leaned forward and gently kissed her back.

Tapping her fingernails on the sides of her coffee cup, Santana drew in a deep breath, holding it before letting it out. Brittany had been there for her. She hadn't minded being used as a crutch, even if she wasn't particularly aware that she was. Instead of their relationship suffering, they'd grown closer.

Where Puck had satisfied her anger, Brittany had soothed her pain.

Still, both girls had known that they were never going to fall deeper in love than the best of companions ever would; and honestly, that had made it even more perfect.

But no matter how close they had grown, Santana had never told her about Rachel. And _Puck _knew the whole reality now, before her best friend did. She had _thought _about telling her, but the less people who knew, the better…

…Right? That was true for _everyone_?

Santana sighed again, watching as the girl in the too big coat successfully broke through the arms of her brother and another boy.

No matter how much she loved Rachel, she wouldn't let her make Brittany dirty. Santana wasn't a saint, and she'd had plenty of nameless hook-ups, but Brittany was light years away from that. Yes, Santana hadn't loved her in the same way, but she'd _needed _her. She knew it wouldn't be a pretty conversation, and she was pretty fucking reluctant to even bring it up after what had happened, but, eventually, she'd have to explain all that to Rachel.

And…

Damn. She _owed _her.

Yeah. She'd come clean to Brittany.

But Quinn could wait. She'd probably be livid and furious about not having been told, but honestly… Santana had a little more concern about her reaction.

Taking one last drink from her coffee cup and figuring it was empty enough, Santana set it down next to her again.

Even with how fucking _horrible_ her life had been for far longer than she cared to remember, she had found three of the best friends she could have ever hoped to have.

In the middle of a rather impressive dash that resulted in a couple of kids toppling over, Santana's phone rang. Sitting up straight and narrowing her eyes to see if she was needed, she blindly fished it out of her pocket. She only glanced at it quickly to hit _Ignore_.

…It didn't _look _like any of the kids were crying, and no parents were rushing towards the ice, so Santana relaxed. Watching the scene for a couple of seconds longer to make sure there really was no emergency, she picked her phone back up. Seeing she had a new voice mail, she retrieved it.

"…Hi, Santana."

Santana's eyes snapped shut, her stomach heaving.

Mamí.

_No_. She gritted her teeth. _Maria_.

"This is your mother." The recorded voice let out a sigh of air, sad and hesitant, "Please don't hang up. I'm not going to yell at you or beg you to come home. …We both know that wouldn't achieve anything. You've always been a stubborn girl." She paused, and when she spoke again, she sounded resigned, "I know why you don't want to come home. And I _understand _why."

Against her best efforts, and feeling sick, Santana could feel her tired eyes start to sting again.

How the _fuck _could her mother _understand_? _Now_, when she never did before? When she hadn't even _tried _to?

_God dammit. _She wanted to hate herself for even the split second of _thinking _her mother was telling the truth.

"But I am still your mother, and I want you to be safe. To be… Able to support yourself, if we… We can't." Maria's voice faltered again, and when it came back, it was thicker than before, "I took a couple of months of allowance in advance and deposited them into your bank account. Please, use it. It's yours. I… I can check it every so often if you want to, to make sure you're…"

The air rushed out of Santana's lungs, and her hand clenched so hard around her phone that something creaked. Tears overflowed her eyes, and she dropped her chin to her chest. Her…

Her mother was _crying_.

Maria tried to speak again, "Santí… Santana, I know I've let you down. I… I can't say I understand _everything_, but you were right that night. We _never _tried to understand.

"Look. I… I'm not trying to _guilt trip _you or, or _buy _you back. I know this won't magically _fix _everything." Her mother paused again, taking a couple of deep, tear-filled breaths. She sighed. "I'm sorry. I've already dropped too much on you. I'll go now."

Santana shivered, listening to silence. She would have thought the call was over if not for the absence of the computerized operator. She waited, hugging her cast close to her stomach for comfort.

"…Don't worry about contacting me. You don't have to if you don't want to. I… Be safe, Santana. I love you."

And the message was over.

Santana pulled the phone from her ear. Staring at it, she barely had the energy to end the call. Hell, she was in no state to think about erasing it or saving it or whatever else she could do with it…

Laying her phone onto her thigh, she reached up and determinedly wiped the tears away from her eyes. She wasn't a little kid anymore. She didn't _need _her mom's approval.

And certainly not three years after she first wanted it.

Shifting so she leaned against the side of the bench and pulling her knees up, Santana propped her elbow onto the arm. Resting the side of her head on her shoulder, she turned her attention back to the pond and the kids and the game of red rover. She was going to lose herself in the joy and love from _those_ families, _those_ happy memories they were making.

After all, she could wait 'til later to face her _own_ family and _own_ memories.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: **Hey guys! I want to thank you all so much for your continuing support for me and this story. It means a lot to me that people have given and are still giving this fic a chance. Thank you.

So, be aware that this chapter has some Brittana/allusions to Brittana in it.

* * *

_Five days after Rachel got back from vocal camp, Santana found herself standing in between Rachel's legs, hands propped against the fallen tree her cousin sat on, sitting just a bit taller than Santana stood, waiting for the small hands cupping her face to pull her chin up._

_The bark was rough against her skin, her shirt collar tight across her neck._

_Rachel's palms were warm. Santana could see the pulse in her neck, the alternating slow and fast rise and fall of her chest as her breath caught and released._

_"Rache…" she breathed, shivering as the hands cradling her face slipped across her skin, fingers curling behind her jaw to gently move her closer._

_Rachel dipped her head, tugging Santana in so their chests touched, then pressed together more solidly. Santana's arms trembled as a whispered "Don't…" blew warm air across her lips. _

_Rachel's nose bumped against hers._

_Breathing raggedly, Santana could see Rachel's eyelashes flutter, and she swallowed._

_They were breathing the same air, their hearts pounding against each other. Heat teased her lips, Rachel's hands suddenly burning against her skin. A tremor ran through Rachel's body, and with desperate painful need, Santana closed the distance._

_Her fingernails dug into the bark, the muscles in her arms tightening so the weakness in her legs wouldn't drag her down. Rachel's hands slid back to grip her closer, making her stomach push against the tree and her sides brush against Rachel's knees._

_It **hurt **to kiss Rachel. Her lips were painfully soft, the feel of her taking over Santana's whole body. She was above and around her, enfolding and bringing Santana as near as she could._

_Trembling, Santana flexed her hands, hesitantly moving them over to rest on then wrap around Rachel's waist and back. Her cousin shuddered, and as slowly as she'd moved her hands, Santana pressed her lips more solidly against her._

_Rachel made a strange noise in the back of her throat, but Santana understood it, and when the lips she was kissing slightly parted, Santana's heart thudded into the bottom of her chest. Panting now, through her nose, Santana's hands tightened into the fabric of Rachel's jacket, needing to hold on because the weakness she had felt earlier was just getting worse._

_As the kiss deepened, more hints of what Rachel's mouth tasted like slipped into her own, the wave of heat that caused leaving her trembling. Wanting to press forward and get more, the depth of the need washing over her scared her. _

_The hands tangled behind her head kept her from pulling back._

_Her heart kept her from running._

_As her upper body pressed closer into Rachel, the bark chafed her stomach, making her back bow. Free strands of Rachel's hair slipped forward to tickle her face, her own causing prickles up and down her neck. Her feet shifted, and suddenly Santana tasted salt._

_Tears immediately welled behind her eyelids, and she dropped her mouth open to let out the burgeoning sob that had been building the whole time. Rachel's lips slid along her upper lip, her head falling forward to bury into the skin in front of Santana's ear. Her hands went slack, her arms jerking downwards until they loosely rested in the small of her back._

_The silent tears Rachel had been crying now dripped along her cheek and jaw, Santana's answering hitching breathing lost against Rachel's scalp, moist air bouncing back at her._

_Rachel suddenly tried to pull back._

_Terror thundered through her body. Snapping her arms shut around Rachel's waist, Santana shook her head violently, digging her forehead into her cousin's neck. "Don't," she grunted harshly, realizing a second later that that was the last word Rachel had whispered to her._

_Rachel tried again._

_Heart pounding, more tears ran from Santana's eyes, and her throat squeezed. "No," she ignored the hands that pushed at her shoulders, "**No**, Rache. You… You did this."_

_A sob seared into her ears. "I know. I know. I **know**, but I – I shouldn't have. So let me go. I'm… I'm sick, and I need to **go**. 'Tana, **please**, just let – "_

_"**You're not sick**!" Santana shouted, straining her throat with the yell. Snapping her head up, she stared into heartbroken eyes that she knew better than her own, becoming lightheaded. "Rache," she rasped, swallowing back the anger she felt with difficulty to whisper fiercely, "Rachie, you're not sick."_

_"Yes I **am**," Rachel shook her head violently, her body sagging in Santana's arms. "Aren't you scared?" she sobbed, her voice cracking. Her eyes begged Santana to agree._

_Santana **hurt**. Dropping her head to break the eye contact, she licked her lips. "I'm scared," she closed her eyes tightly, feeling them burn, "But I'm not scared of **you**." Looking back up, she could feel her face crumpling. "I'm scared of **this**."_

* * *

"Are you sure you should do this?"

Santana sighed, catching Brittany's worried expression in the mirror. "…No. Not really," she admitted, dropping her eyes, "But I don't really have a choice, now. She's… Back." That _barely _described what was going on.

"San…" Rustle, light footsteps, and Brittany's arms wrapped around her shoulders, her face pressing into the side of her neck. Soft hair tickled her cheek, and Santana closed her eyes. "Are you scared?" she asked.

Santana let out a humorless laugh. "I'd be afraid if I _wasn_'_t_. Here… C'mere, Britt." Tugging her friend around until the tall blonde was in front of her, she pulled her down into her lap, sliding her arms around her waist to wrap around her stomach. "Am I doing the right thing?" she mumbled, resting her chin on Brittany's shoulder.

Shifting a little to get a bit more comfortable, Brittany reached a hand back to run her fingers through Santana's hair, turning her head to look at her. She gave Santana a slight smile. "Didn't I just ask that?"

Santana closed her eyes, tightening her embrace slightly before relaxing. "Yeah, you probably did," she conceded, then took a deep breath. Cursing the hitch in her voice, she asked, whispering, "B, what am I doing?"

Being away from Rachel, nothing seemed clear anymore. Had she imagined everything? Was she lying to herself? Was what she had seen on Rachel's face, heard in Rachel's voice, read in Rachel's note, not really there?

She swallowed painfully. How was she supposed to know what was real and what was wishful thinking? Could she be _just friends_ with her? Would… Would Rachel wait…? She didn't know what she'd do if...

Santana's stomach flipped again. Her head hurt.

She didn't want to think anymore.

Brittany was quiet for a couple of minutes, but Santana knew she had come to some sort of decision when the fingers pleasantly combing against her scalp slowed and stopped. "Well," Brittany pushed herself back a bit, making Santana pull her arms back, "I'm going to ask you some questions. Okay?"

The blonde looked expectantly at her, and Santana smiled affectionately. "Okay, B. But, let's move to the bed. My leg's startin' to fall asleep."

"Eww." Wrinkling her nose, Brittany moved off her lap, "I hate the pricklies I get when my legs fall asleep."

Nodding, Santana stood up and winced a little, but gave Brittany a smile anyway, "Wells, all good. No pricklies." Walking over to Brittany's bed, she crawled over towards the wall, heading for the large purple elephant she'd given the blonde the year before. Pulling Bartholomew into her arms, she let out an agreeing sound when she felt the mattress depress right before Brittany cuddled into her back.

Relaxing back into her, a thought hit her.

Jesus. When was it decided that she would always be the small spoon? If she _really _cared, she'd roll over, but Brittany hugs had always been pretty damn amazing. And fuck it. She'd let herself take some comfort.

After all, it was better to get all the physical contact with Brittany she could before – _if_. _If_ her best friend got… Got _disgusted _with her.

She mentally shook her head. That was jumping ahead. Right now, she was going to lose herself in cucumber melon familiarity. It may not be Rachel's scent, but she couldn't help thinking that was probably a good thing right now…

Brittany's arm curled around her waist, her hand bumping into Santana's cast. "San…" she sighed, her breath playing along Santana's scalp, "I didn't ask before, but…" Her fingers explored the stiff plaster, "Did you… Hurt yourself because of Rachel?"

Santana sucked in a deep breath of air. Digging her chin into the top of Bartholomew's head, she closed her eyes as she raced to come up with some answer that wouldn't upset Brittany. "I…" she licked her lips, "Wouldn't say it was _because _of her."

Brittany made a noncommittal humming noise. "But you wouldn't have if she hadn't come back."

That was true. Still, "I'm not going to blame her."

Moving her hand back up, Brittany started softly running her fingers up and down the swell of Santana's hip, gliding over her shirt, making her shiver. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet. "Are you going to blame her for anything?"

Santana had no answer to that.

Rachel had been so… _Rachel _…That it made it impossible for Santana to not fall in love with her. Should she blame her for that? Rachel had been the first one to initiate a kiss. Should Santana blame her for that? Rachel had been ripped from her life, setting Santana on the path she'd followed for good or bad. Should she blame her for that? And then Rachel had moved back, causing Santana's life to fall apart spec-fucking-tacularly. Should she blame her for _that_?

It wasn't that she _had _no answer. She didn't _want _to answer.

"B," she whispered, "I can't… Not now."

Warm air blew across Santana's scalp again, and sure fingers squeezed her hipbone. Shifting, Brittany whispered, "Lift up," and when Santana raised her head, she felt the arm the blonde had been lying on push under her neck, followed by a soft kiss pressed into her hair. "Okay, San," she murmured, pulling Santana closer.

Warmth surged through her.

Dammit. Brittany felt too good.

Instinctively molding back into her body, Santana chewed on her lower lip. She probably shouldn't let things go too much farther…

Brittany wasn't Rachel, just like Puck wasn't Rachel, but Brittany's touch had always been more than Puck's.

Fuck. This could be bad.

Distraction. That was what was needed. But for her or Brittany? _Fuck_. She didn't know.

This was just _wrong_. Hadn't she just been telling Rachel that Brittany hadn't meant anything? Why the _fuck _was she doing this to herself?

Was it as punishment? As comfort? What the hell _was _it?

Whatever it was, Santana didn't want it. "Britt…"

"Yeah?"

She felt like a total failure. "Can you… Move back? I… I can't."

Brittany paused, and then let out a small, "Oh." Squeezing Santana tightly, she removed her arms and moved away, rolling onto her back.

Santana squeezed her eyes shut. _God_. No _wonder_ she wasn't allowed to have anything good in her life.

She didn't deserve it.

Had she no fucking self _control_?

No, no, apparently not. She'd had to ask _Brittany _to move away.

Crushing Bartholomew to her chest, Santana shuddered. She felt smaller than shit.

How the hell was she supposed to show Rachel that all she wanted was Rachel when the second she felt overwhelmed and depressed, her body reacted to someone else?

"Oh, no, no, no, _San_…" And Brittany was hovering over her, gently pulling Bartholomew out of her arms and rolling her over, "Don't feel bad. Please."

"But…"

"_No_." Shaking her head, Brittany firmed her expression, looking at Santana stubbornly, "Bartie and I don't like you being sad." Reaching out a hand, she cupped Santana's cheek and gently wiped a tear that had leaked from the corner of her eye. "Talk to us?"


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: **A short chapter to get me back into this story. I love this story. It's one of my favorite things I've ever written.

* * *

Alcohol always made everything better. Either that, or it made you so shit-faced that you had no _chance _to care about anything except not choking on your own vomit. It was the second that Santana wanted. She wasn't an alcoholic, but she couldn't deny that the phantom burning in her throat wasn't anything but an ache for getting stone-cold drunk.

Only problem was, she wasn't sure she was ready for the third degree that was going to happen when Puck arrived with booze.

Staring at her phone, fingers itching to _text Puck already,_ _dammit_! Santana groaned. Looking up, she made a face at the giggle that came from across the room.

Brittany, who was not helping at _all_, was sitting backwards on the chair for her desk, rotating back and forth by the pushing of her legs. She was also gazing at Santana with an affectionately amused expression that made her flush with something that felt an awful lot like embarrassment.

Not cool. Brittany wasn't allowed to watch her fall apart then laugh at her. That just wasn't _done_.

Shoving hair back from her face, Santana let Brittany know she was not pleased by glaring coolly at her.

Brittany kept on cheekily grinning.

Well, damn. Santana wasn't going to win that fight. Frowning petulantly, she thought about flipping her best friend off, but decided against it. So instead, she asked, "You _sure _your parents and little sister will be occupied at your grandmother's all night?"

"For sure." Bringing up her necklace and biting on it, Brittany looked to her left, "I crumbled enough sleeping pills into their dinner that they'll fall down as soon as they get to Nana's."

Santana's eyes widened. "Is that… Safe?" Brittany's rents were decent people, and her little sister was _way _too young to die.

Brittany smiled widely, nodding as she spoke through the four leaf clover charm Santana had given her for her birthday last year; sometimes, Brittany needed _all _of the luck she could get, "Of course! I learned my lesson after Dad crashed into the guardrail at the exit to the freeway last year." Her eyebrows furrowed. "There was a lot of fire and smoke, but no one in the resulting five car pileup was seriously hurt."

Jesus. Santana's eyebrow twitched. She'd have to start checking her food. "Uhh… And why did you spike their food _that _day?"

Taking her necklace out of her mouth, Brittany leaned down and picked up Lord Tubbington, who had pushed his way into her bedroom. Settling him down onto her lap after switching the chair around, she kissed his head and looked back up at Santana, "We were going to the circus. I wanted to stay all night to see if they really feed the lions the people who try to stay all night."

"Wouldn't _you_ have been eaten if that were true?"

Brittany cocked her head, and Lord Tubbington meowed when she stopped petting him. "Oh… Good thing I didn't then, huh, Lord Tubbington?" She picked up one of Tubbington's paws to make him wave.

Santana decided the conversation had gotten _way _out of hand. "Oh… Kay. Sure. But back to today. Your grandmother won't freak when she sees your family go all narco on her?"

Brittany shook her head. "I called and asked her before I did it. She just told me to make sure they make it into the living room this time. Her neighbors get scared when they see her dragging bodies inside."

What. The. Fuck. Brittany scared the shit out of her sometimes. Now was one of those times. Hopefully she'd never have to deal with her grandmother, who sounded just as scary. Or even worse. Old people, by default, were incredibly creepy.

For lack of a suitable response, Santana looked back down at her phone. Hearing Brittany stand up and set Lord Tubbington down, she wasn't surprised when her phone was gently pulled out of her hand. A couple of tappings later, and Brittany gave it back to her.

"There." Brittany smiled and held out her hand, "C'mon, I'll help you take a shower before he gets here." As Santana's eyes widened, she giggled. "S. No sexy fun times."

Could she do this?

No, fuck that. There was no question.

She could do this without fucking up.

She _had _to. For Rachel.

And yeah, all the pussy crying she'd been doing that day made her feel like shit.

Santana sighed, smiling faintly. Nodding her head, she took Brittany's hand, and squeezed it. "Sure, Britt. Thanks."


	27. Chapter 27

Brittany was humming.

Feeling her fingernails scraping against her scalp as her friend happily massaged sweet smelling shampoo into her hair, Santana closed her eyes and tried to let the gentle tune calm her mind. Her plastic wrapped cast was pulling her shoulder down, and if it wasn't for Brittany behind her, she knew she'd probably be huddled on the floor of the tub, going over everything that had happened that day.

And a lot had happened.

Brittany's volume changed as she gently urged Santana to change places with her. Reaching past her to adjust the showerhead, the blonde let out a small giggle when the warm water now cascading down Santana's body made her shiver. "Cold?" she teased.

"No, warm." Santana lulled her head forward, enjoying the sensation of the shampoo suds flowing down her body.

"Hot?"

Santana smiled. "Boiling."

Brittany started lathering up the conditioner; Santana could smell the familiar sweet scent, "Just don't become a lobster, okay?"

"Okay, Britt. I won't become a lobster."

"Good."

Santana lifted one corner of her mouth. "I might become lobster red, though."

In lieu of a worded response, Brittany giggled and leaned around to softly kiss her cheek.

Brittany…

Brittany's fingers were long, her hands bigger than Rachel's. She was taller than Santana, blonde, and loved Santana very much. Raising her left hand, Santana caught Brittany's, turning slightly.

The blonde paused. "San?" she asked curiously, worrying her lower lip.

Santana smiled sadly, shaking her head. "Hey, B?" she whispered, "If I tell you something, will you hate me?"

Brittany automatically smiled. "I could never hate you." Reaching forward, she wrapped her arms around Santana to bring her close, warm and wet and familiar. Feeling the blonde's hand stroking down her back, her gentle breathing in and out against her body, the soft and hard lines of her body, Santana knew this was it. Now or never.

"B," she whispered, left arm snaked around Brittany's waist, holding on so tight so that her shaking legs wouldn't pull her down, her right so _fucking useless_, breathing in the distinctive scent of shampoo and heated skin and _Brittany_, Santana had to believe that her best friend wouldn't let her go. Would continue holding her, lending herself to her, _just fucking being there _for her.

Because if Santana lost Brittany, she didn't know what she'd do.

The cold feeling that surrounded her heart at that thought almost washed away the warmth of the shower, and she clutched Brittany closer. No matter how fucked up she'd become, she had always been able to count on Brittany. Always.

Ever since they'd met the summer before high school, when Santana was a shell of who she'd been and Brittany a sweet blonde who'd latched onto her with the plan of never letting go, Brittany had always just. Fuckin'. _Been there_.

And now, where before the touch of Brittany had made her panic and force her away, Santana only wanted to pull her closer and force her to stay.

"B," she repeated raggedly, her voice thick and eyes watering and _so damn cold _with something the water cascading down her couldn't touch "B, I love you. You know that? I love you. I love you so much, but I'm so _scared_ to tell you because I don't want you to hate me. I _need _you not to hate me, because you're really only one of the people that I have, and I… I _need _you. I just fucking _need _you in my life, so you can't go. You _can't_ – "

Brittany kissed her. Holding her face still and eyes closed in concentration, the blonde covered her mouth with her own, not letting her pull away.

Her jaw trembling and _fuck! _she was _crying _again, Santana's heart pounded in her chest. Brittany was kissing her. Why was Brittany kissing her? What was she feeling? What was she _supposed _to be feeling?

No, no, Britt, what the fuck? Why? Why are you –

Betrayal and anger and guilt and pain and so many damn emotions surged up. Pushing against Brittany's hip, Santana panted through her nose. Though she wasn't moving her lips, Brittany's hands tensed around her cheeks. She wouldn't let go. Why wouldn't she _fucking let go_?

Determined and unyielding, Brittany didn't move back.

Determined. Unyielding.

That was what Brittany _was_.

The tears came in earnest. Whimpering, Santana whimpered again when Brittany pulled back, running one of her hands up to smooth wet bangs away from her eyes. Keeping her eyes closed against the burning of salt, she shivered when Brittany's arms wrapped around her again and her breath twined with the water streaming along her ear.

"San," Brittany whispered, "I love you too. You're my best friend. And since I'm your best friend, I can tell you when you're being stupid." Shifting a little, Santana felt her hand drop to grab her left hand, squeezing it. "You're being stupid."

She was. She was also too mentally tired to feel offended.

The only sound in the room was the pulse of the shower. Brittany's hand was solid around hers, and she could still feel her breathing against her.

And fuck if this was weird or wrong or twisted or whatever or a big giant fucking _lie _she was telling herself, but Santana felt absolutely loved.

Letting out a deep breath of air, she blinked open her eyes. Having to shake her head to free them from water, both from her and not, she nodded at Brittany. She laced their hands together, wanting at least that contact for as long as she could if the blonde stepped away.

"Rachel," she started plainly, swallowing and forcing herself not to look away from gentle blue eyes, "Is my cousin."

Brittany didn't react.

Santana licked her lips. Maybe the blonde hadn't gotten it. "My uncle's daughter." Now that she said it, she _needed _the blonde to understand.

Brittany's smile didn't fade. "Okay," she lifted her hand from Santana's hip to push back hair from her face again, "Is that why you've been so sad?" She gently pulled her other hand from Santana's to press into her upper arm, turning her around. Maneuvering her directly under the shower spray, she returned to rinsing the conditioner out of her hair that Santana had forgotten about.

Santana's heart was still thundering in her chest. "Brittany," she closed her eyes, almost sounding desperate now, "Rachel and I are related!"

Brittany hummed, her fingernails scraping against Santana's scalp again.

Brittany! God dammit, why wasn't she _acknowledging _her?

"That's incest!" She was yelling now, the tears starting up again, "It's incest and it's wrong and you're supposed to hate me because _I love her_!" She choked, spitting out the water that had run into her open mouth.

"But I _don't _hate you." Her best friend's voice was matter of fact, almost gently chiding. "I may not understand a lot of things because they don't make sense, but I know you, and _you _make sense."

What…

"And I'm not going to let you convince yourself that I should hate you."

"But…"

"No." Patting Santana's hair, Brittany leaned past her to shut off the shower. Sliding back the shower curtain, she grabbed the two fluffy white towels on the towel bar, then wrapped one around Santana before wrapping one around herself. "Now let's hurry up. Puck should be here soon. Party, yay!" She clapped happily.

Santana stared at the other girl. As the blonde smiled at her and turned to exit the bathroom, Santana flung out her hand and grabbed. Pulling her back, she studied Brittany's eyes, searching for _anything _to tell her the blonde saw her differently.

Nothing.

Santana had never loved Brittany more. She smiled, dropping her shoulders and exhaling shakily. "Thank you," she murmured, unable to say anything more.

Brittany smiled back. Accepting the hug Santana drew her into, she giggled.

"What?"

"No sexy fun times, but I never said anything about ki-ssing~" Tapping Santana's nose with her finger, Brittany giggled again, and skipped out.

Blushing a little but feeling better than she had in a long time, Santana knew two things for certain: Brittany didn't hate her, and their friendship was secure.

Now she just had to face Puck's badgering; but with Brittany on her side, things _might just be _okay.

For a little while, at least.


	28. Chapter 28

Santana ran her fingers up and down the neck of her whiskey bottle. Puck, the dick, had dog piled most of glee club into a caravan, showing up at Brittany's door with copious alcohol and extra bodies. She had no idea how so many of the club were able to get away with partying on a school night, but the ingenious ability teenagers had to lie knew no bounds. Honestly, she really shouldn't have been surprised.

When Brittany slowly slunk into the living room after answering the door, Santana had taken one look at her face and realized what must have happened. Closing her eyes, she swore under her breath and kicked the coffee table. Standing up, she crossed her arms, schooled her face, and walked as stately as she could into the kitchen.

Puck and Matt had already cracked open various bottles of hard alcohol, playing bartender to Finn and Mike, while Mercedes, Kurt, and Tina seemed to be treating their beer cans as alien appendages. Quinn had grabbed some of the orange juice out of the refrigerator, and she almost looked relieved to be distracted from her aimless stroking of her arm when she spotted Santana. Hurrying over to her before anyone else noticed her, the blonde wrapped her hand around her forearm, almost dragging her back out of the kitchen.

"What the hell, Q?" Santana snapped, tearing her arm away.

Quinn's apologetic face rivaled the one Brittany had when she'd entered the living room, and Santana's stomach dropped. "Q…?" she repeated, an edge coming to her voice.

"Don't hate me, but I was too late," the blonde started.

"Too late?"

Quinn nodded. "God! Puck, that bastard… Okay, look." She raised a hand to her face before letting it drop. Forcing Santana to meet her gaze, she firmed her lips. "Santana, Puck asked Rachel to pick up Artie."

The breath whooshed out of her lungs.

"To… Bring him… _Here_?" Santana's voice came out a mixture of whisper and strangulation, and she had to push back the rising of bile.

Quinn's silence was answer enough.

That… What… How _could_ – ? "_That_ _fucking asshole!_" Santana yelled, throwing off the calming hand Quinn tried to put on her shoulder. "What the hell? He _knows_. That fucking bastard _knows _and he – " She cut herself off. Yelling at Quinn did nothing. No.

Changing tactics, Santana pushed past her friend. She couldn't believe this. Wasn't Puck supposed to be her fucking _bro_?

Wasn't he supposed to fucking c_are_? After she'd fallen asleep in his arms and, well, _fuck it_, they'd _bonded_, hadn't they? She knew he was upset over glee, but to do _this _to make her come back? That made no sense!

No. Fucking. Sense.

So what the hell? Why _would _Puck do this?

It was almost like he was forcing Rachel and her together.

That thought actually made her stop so abruptly that her hand slapped on the doorframe into the kitchen, everyone's eyes snapping to her. Ignoring them all, she sought out and stared at Puck. As he dipped his head with a lilt to his mouth she couldn't fully understand, he raised his shot glass and saluted her.

Fuck him.

In his emotionally stunted way, Puck _was _doing his bro duties.

Feeling Quinn at her back, Santana growled but dropped her shoulders. Walking more sedately into the kitchen, still feeling like her insides were vibrating with tension, she stopped in front of the smiling mohawked prick.

It seemed like everyone in the room was holding their breath, waiting to see what was going to happen. Fucking idiots.

Narrowing her eyes at Puck to let him know she was _not pleased_, Santana smacked her palm down onto the counter. "Puckerman," she hissed.

Puck cocked his head, his eyebrows raising to the top of his forehead. "Yes, Satan?" he asked, sugary sweet.

"You're a fucker. Give me some damn tequila."

Then, after three quick shots and majestically managing to successfully ignore everyone in the kitchen if she did say so herself, she'd swiped an unattended bottle of already opened whiskey and walked back into the living room. Highly aware of everyone following after her, she almost snorted at how much that made her feel like a fucking rock star.

Well. Better to get the most of this out of the way before she got shit faced drunk.

Which really meant before Rachel arrived.

Santana's heart twinged and her palms started tingling. Taking a giant swig of the whiskey to distract herself, she felt the burn come back to her throat that had already faded from the tequila. At least _that _hurt felt good.

"Alright bitches," she plopped back down onto the couch, spreading out her arms to mockingly gesture that she would let everyone sit down, "While I will ignore most of the pathetic drivel that will leave your lips, you can go ahead and amuse me. This should be good for some laughs."


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: ***claps happily* I'm _so _looking forward to next chapter~

* * *

_Rachel had another recital. It'd been two weeks since the day in their clearing, and Santana hated herself for seriously contemplating not attending. She'd **never **missed one of her cousin's performances, and though it made her physically ill thinking about seeing Rachel, it made her feel even worse thinking about **not **seeing her._

_It had taken a long time to admit that Santana hadn't been a passive participant. She'd wanted Rachel just as much as Rachel had wanted her. It was all kinds of screwed up. How was she supposed to feel? She **wanted **her cousin. Her **female **cousin._

_She had fallen in **love**. With **Rachel**._

_Santana's parents had noticed that she'd withdrawn from the world, though more noticeably, she and Rachel hadn't been hanging out. Normally they were **always **together, and Santana had barely managed dodging a conversation with her mother she really did **not **want. No, they hadn't had a fight. No, they were just busy. Yes, Rachel was working on her recital, and Santana was catching up with her summer reading. Eighth grade was starting soon, and because Rachel had been stressing that the high school Santana kept on talking about was still a year away, so there was no reason to slack off just because it was the last year of junior high, Santana had decided to take it to heart and start doing what she should._

_Truth be told, she'd been sitting in her room, staring at pictures of her and Rachel until her eyes burned and overflowed. But her parents accepted it, finally happy their daughter was seemingly becoming serious about school._

_But now Rachel had a recital. And Santana ached so bad to see her that it had only taken her an hour to convince herself to get her bike out of the garage and head across town._

_The candy stars burned in her pocket the whole way home._

* * *

Curled up into her side, having shoved herself between Santana and the arm of the couch, Brittany was hugging Santana's left arm, almost draped across her. With her head settled on her shoulder, Santana knew without seeing her face that she was giving everyone a petulant glare. The blonde loved parties, but even she hadn't expected the whole glee club to show up. Sighing, Santana placed her whiskey bottle between her knees and reached over to squeeze her arm comfortingly.

Quinn was on her other side, legs barely brushing against Santana, and she was adding her own annoyed expression to the group. Santana had to give it to her; even if the blonde was fuckin' upset at Santana for quitting, she wouldn't have shoved everyone at her to fix it.

Assembled across from her, the expressions on everyone's faces varied from contempt to nervousness, only Mike and Matt seemingly uncaring either way. She'd always liked M&M, and she'd almost bet that they were mainly there for the alcohol. They'd both smiled at her earlier, as they followed Puck and Finn into the living room, so she knew at least _they _were cool.

"Uhm, shouldn't we wait for Artie, at least…?" Tina spoke up hesitantly, and Santana had to give her props for being the first to actually _say _something.

Still, Artie meant Rachel. "_No_," Santana narrowed her eyes at the goth, "I want to get this shit over and _done _with so you can all fucking _leave_."

"Chill, girl," Mercedes set her beer down onto the coffee table. Crossing her arms, she stared at Santana like she was trying to see into her mind, "I have a feeling a lot of this crap has to do with our new member. And once she gets here, we'll be able to ask _her _some questions, too."

Panic and anger spiked through Santana. For a second, she forgot about her plan of staying cool and disinterested. "Oh _hell _no – !"

Kurt pushed his hair back from his forehead. "It's obvious," he said dryly, looking at her with his eyebrows raised and easily speaking over her when she bit herself off, "There's some history between you and Miss Argyle. Something incredibly juicy if it caused you subsequent discharge from the Cheerios." He dipped his head at her cast.

Drunk! Drunk! Santana needed to get drunker faster! Instead of answering, she knocked back a giant mouthful, narrowing her eyes at him over the bottle.

"You should really eat something," Quinn tried to pull the bottle away from her, but Santana just tightened her grip.

"And you should mind your own business," she jerked her drink back, happy that it was already low enough that none splashed out. Squinting a little through the bottle, she tilted her head. She'd already drunken that much? Hot damn. No wonder her face was starting to heat up.

No, wait, some had already been poured out. Still, shit. Maybe she _should _eat something.

Kurt leaned over to Mercedes, making an obnoxious sotto voce whisper, "You realize she didn't deny that she knows Rachel?"

Mercedes nodded sagely.

Rolling her eyes, Santana decided it wasn't worth it and turned to Puck. "Puck!" she snapped out, "You order any pizzas?"

"Oh, uh, I did," Finn raised his hand.

"Awesome. How many?"

Finn thought for a second. "Four… I think? Two pepperoni, a vegetarian, and a Hawaiian. Yeah." He nodded, taking a swig of his drink, "Four."

"I call pepperoni," Mike spoke up, nearly everyone else nodding, only Tina and Kurt opting for Hawaiian.

Brittany leaned up to whisper into Santana's ear, "We're eating a hulu dancer?"

"Hula. And no." Smiling affectionately at her, Santana looked down at her whiskey bottle. Pushing herself up, she set it down onto the coffee table, turned to Quinn and raised her eyebrow at her, "Q, I am tasking you with making sure _no one _gets their hands on _my _drink, kay?"

The blonde rolled her eyes but nodded, scooting over into the space Santana left. Having pouted when Santana had gotten up, Brittany happily snuggled into Quinn. "Hey, Q," she asked perkily, "If you ate Hawaiian pizza, would your baby come out Hawaiian?"

Busting out laughing, Santana managed to escape into the hallway. Hell yeah. Food as a distraction. _Always _worked. Swaying a little as the combination of pain medication and alcohol on an empty stomach rushed up to her head, she whirled around with her right hand raised when a rough hand grabbed her arm.

"Whoah!" Puck swerved back, "Watch it with the brick!"

_Puck_. "What the hell do you want?" she hissed, tugging her arm away.

Puck raised his hands in surrender. "Look," he took a step forward, studying her uncharacteristically seriously, "I realize that I totally pulled a douche move, but – "

Douche move? _Douche move_? "Oh, that's all you're going to call it?" she snapped. Douche move did _not _fully contain the ramifications of the stunt her friend had done. "Puck," god dammit, the tears were coming back; fuck alcohol! Why did she think drinking was a good thing, again? "Not only do you throw me to the glee club like I was a fuckin' Christian and they were the lions, but," her voice dropped, "But _Rachel_?"

Sighing, Puck ran a hand over his Mohawk. Wrapping his hand back around her arm, he started tugging her down the hall to the bathroom. Shoving her inside, he followed and locked the door after him.

What the fuck? Stumbling a little, she managed to catch her balance with the help of the sink. "Puck," she growled, rubbing her left palm against her shirt to get the physical shock of catching herself to go away, "You an' me are _not _going to gets our quickie on."

"While I would totally be up for that and you _know _you'd be missing out, not gettin' a piece of the Puckasaurus, that's not why I brought you here." Walking forward, Puck jumped up to sit on the sink, forcing Santana to take a step backwards. "Alright, I know I can be a jerk."

Santana scoffed. "You're always a jerk."

Making a face at her, Puck nodded and continued, "But I'm always badass. And…" He paused, that strange smile on his lips again, "As your badass lesbro, I took it upon myself to kick the stupidness out of you.

"Santana." He gave her a pointed look, "You need to _talk _to Rachel."

What the fuck? Was she hearing this correctly? "Are you sure you still have a dick?" she asked him incredulously.

Puck glared at her. "Look, when I broke into your locker for her – "

_What_?

She must have made a face, because he gave her a _really? _look. "Your phone, dumbass. You didn't think she just _dropped _it in, did you?"

Honestly, she hadn't thought about it at all. Wait… So _he _was the one who put her phone and the note in? Did that mean he…? Pure anger started building in her body, and she had to shake her head to get her to concentrate again. "You fucker," she hissed, stomping up to him, "You _didn't_ – "

Puck jumped down. Giving her an arrogant smirk, he raised his eyebrows. "Babe, this is _me _we're talking about. Of _course _I did. And even if she _hadn't _given me some of the most kick-ass sugar cookies _ever_, I'd tell you that that girl? That fellow hot Jew that I _know _you've gotten some of, she's as fucked up as you are over this. And if you don't go in and reclaim her, someone'll swoop in and take her away from you."

Sheer panic ripped through Santana. Someone would take Rachel away? Who? _Who_? _No_! Rachel couldn't be taken away again! Rachel was _hers_! Was supposed to be _hers_!

Eyes darting around the room, her stomach rolled. She couldn't be in the small bathroom anymore. She needed to get out. Rachel was coming, right? With Artie. Soon. Did _Artie w_ant to steal her away?

Did _Puck_? Is _that _why he'd called her here?

"Shit. Santana, calm down."

Calm down? Calm _down_? Santana sucked in deep breaths, the rushing pounding in her head almost drowning out Puck's words. When he tried to put his hands on her, she recoiled, pushing him away.

A loud knock sounded on the door. "S?" Brittany called out, voice soft but carrying, "You might wanna come out now. Rachel's here."

Santana's heart tripped, heat racing through her body.

Puck took a breath through his nose, and he turned to look at Santana, who stared back at him. She watched as he seemed to decide something, walking forward. When he slid his arms around her, she let him. She may have been angry and furious at him, but right now… Right now she didn't mind his strength.

Even if he _was _the catalyst for needing that strength.

"San," he whispered into her ear, squeezing her, and Santana slowly wrapped her own arms around him, "We cool?"

Breathing in deeply and letting it out in a sigh, Santana nodded. Puck may have been a dumbass punk… But he was _her _dumbass punk. Pulling back, she mustered up a smile, "Puck?"

"Yeah?"

"You're being _really _gay right now."

"Hey!" Shoving her away, Puck straightened and scowled at her. "The Puckster's all man, baby!"

Santana just smirked and flicked her hand at the door. "Sure. Now git. I gots to do some female shit."

"I'm a man!"

"I said _sure_. Now go!"

Making a face at her, Puck puffed out his chest and unlocked and pushed open the door.

"Puck?" Brittany sounded curious, and when Santana looked up to watch Puck leave, she waved for the blonde to come in and join her. "S," Brittany slid in and closed the door behind her, "Why was Puck muttering something about Cheerio Ashley and proving his male… Prowls?"

Santana snorted. "Don't mind him. I just questioned his masculinity." Served the douche right.

After all, because of him, Rachel was in the house, probably only a couple of walls away. Dropping her shoulders, she closed her eyes. "B," she whispered, smiling when the other girl immediately pulled her into a hug.

"Yeah?"

Breathing in her soothing scent, Santana pulled herself together. "Never mind. Thank you." Hugging Brittany tightly for a second, she smiled and stepped away. "Pizza here yet?"

Brittany smiled back and took Santana's hand, hooking their pinkies together. "Yup! Came right before Rachel and Tina's robot."

Rachel…

Keeping the smile on her face, Santana followed Brittany out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen. And, most probably, towards Rachel.

She could do this.

No. That wasn't it.

She _had _to do this.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: **I have no plans of ever dropping this story. Even if I have to write the rest of it under the influence of cough syrup, like this chapter was. Yay!

* * *

Rachel was hovering near the door to the living room, half in and half out. Her hair was swept up in a loose ponytail, and Santana bit her lip at the puffy vest jacket and short sleeve shirt ensemble; she must have changed after school, because Santana distinctly remembered an owl sweater and button skirt, a look no one should really be able to pull off. But she did. Rachel did. Her cousin had always dressed quirkily, so seeing her continue the fashion was almost… Comforting.

Her eyes dropped to the snug jeans finishing up the outfit, and she honest to fucking god got weak kneed for a second. Those… Those were new.

Awareness started coiling in the pit of her stomach, and she curled her hand into a fist, her fingers starting to tingle with the urge to explore the jeans. Intimately.

Rachel turned as they walked closer; Santana could hear Puck's hooting laughter coming from the living room behind her. Her eyes widened, and she straightened, pulling her hands from the pockets of her vest. Gaze skittering away from Santana, Rachel bit her lip and looked back at her.

All of the air sucked out of Santana's lungs. Her darkening eyes swimming with pain and awareness and a halfly-erected mask, Rachel tried to stand tall.

Santana wanted to run over and… Bury her head into her hair and clutch her to her so tightly that she _absorbed _her. Kiss her deeply and obscenely, never letting go. Puck's comment flashed through her mind, and she had to bite back a growl, setting her jaw.

Fuck. _Was _Rachel still hers?

She knew her cousin still _needed _her, but did that mean that she was _hers_?

Santana searched Rachel's face, looking for anything that would answer her question.

Rachel… She looked so _small_.

If… If Santana tried the friend thing, would she… _Lose _Rachel?

Her pinky tightening around Brittany's as they got closer, Santana had to fight the urge to let go. No. There was nothing wrong with touching her best friend, and it was _not _going to be turned into something dirty. No matter the look on Rachel's face as she dropped her gaze to their entwined fingers.

She looked so _hurt _before she schooled her expression, and Santana managed a small, sad smile. "Hey, B," she whispered, not believing she was doing this, straining to be heard over the pounding of her heart, "I'll meet you inside, kay?"

Coming to a stop just in front of Rachel, Brittany looked back and forth between her and Santana. Her eyebrows scrunching a little before she finally nodded, the blonde dropped her hand, only to slide her arm around Santana's waist and tug her in for a quick, close hug. "You're strong, S," she whispered, her lips brushing against her ear, "Don't hide yourself away. Be honest with her, okay?"

Santana shivered from the feeling of her breath on her ear, and she quickly shot a glance at Rachel, who was looking down, bangs obscuring her eyes, her body rigid. She swallowed. Taking a deep breath, Santana squeezed Brittany back. "I'll try."

"Good." Taking a step back, Brittany smiled widely at her and dropped her arm, her scent of cucumber melon lingering. Then, turning to Rachel and tilting her head, Brittany gave her a small smile. "It's nice to meet you, Rachel. I hope you and Santana can work things out, because she really misses you."

"_B_!" Santana strangled out, jerking with horror.

"What?" Brittany looked back at Santana, innocent, and it took all of Santana's strength not to slide her gaze past her and see what the expression on Rachel's face was, "I'm being serious. 'Sides, you two would be really cute."

Oh. My. God. Santana lost her battle with avoiding Rachel. Her cousin's eyes were wide, her face high with red, and she met Santana's gaze, her blush deepening with the contact. There was no small amount of panic and hurt building as well.

Fuck. _Brittany_. Placing her hand solidly against the small of Brittany's back, Santana pushed the blonde forward. "Okay, Britts, go get some pizza."

"Oh yeah!" Perking up, Brittany offered Rachel another smile and allowed Santana to usher her through the door, "I want to see how the Hawaiians make pizza!"

And they were alone.

There was general noise from the other room, but she and Rachel were the only ones in the hall.

Alone.

_Fuck_. Santana could _feel _her.

…

She was only two steps away.

Two.

Steps.

A quiet, wavering breath left Rachel's mouth. It instantly drew Santana's gaze to her lips, and she licked her own, remembering the taste of her that had never changed since… _Since the first time_.

Her heart started to pound. Aided by the alcohol still swirling in her stomach and flowing out through her body, Santana knew that if she didn't get food soon, she'd…

Probably do something incredibly bad.

Incredibly bad but _so fucking worth it_.

Because it would be.

As it had always been, she _needed _Rachel.

She needed to… She wanted to…

Rachel, in what was probably unconscious mimicry, wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.

Santana _honest to fucking God_ felt dizzy at how fast the air left her lungs.

There was nothing stopping her from walking forward and claiming those plump lips as hers, was there? Just push Rachel back against the wall and press herself into her. Cover her body with her own, no space between them, Rachel's hair falling around her face and her heaving chest in tandem with Santana's. Her back would arch, her hips would meet Santana's, her mouth would be warm and wet, and her eyes would be so dark Santana wouldn't be able to see her reflection. Rachel would moan and gasp, the smell, taste, and feeling of her rising and taking over Santana's senses.

She had to fight to keep her eyes open, to keep her knees strong.

To keep herself away from Rachel.

Because she knew. She knew that even more than melting into her with clothes off and so fucking dying to be able to lose control, the first thing she _really _wanted was –

Oh god, the only thing Santana fucking wanted was to –

She just wanted to –

Couldn't… Couldn't she just _hold _Rachel? Just pull Rachel to her, breathe her in, _feel _her?

It…

It would be like coming home. _Home_.

Home, because –

Rachel's eyes darkened, her hand in almost slow motion reaching out, towards Santana, making her tremble. Staring down at the motion, not able – _willing_ – to look away from slim, elegant fingers, Santana's pulse fluttered uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach.

More of Puck's laughter rang from the room, but she barely flinched.

Rachel took a step forward. Unable to stop the compulsive swallow that elicited, Santana realized her cousin's hand was now almost on the same level as the top of her cast; she was almost able to feel the heat grow as the smaller girl slowly brought her other hand up.

"'Tana."

Santana's eyes fluttered closed at the low pitched, trembling voice.

"'Tana… Can you look at me?"

Rachel's fingers slipped up her bare arm. A second later, the tips of her busted fingers were softly encircled, Rachel close enough that Santana's attuned nose could pick up her scent.

Santana's fingers ached. She tilted her head forward, feeling locks of hair fall over her forehead.

"Please."

There were tears building in Rachel's voice. Cracking her eyes open, Santana was surprised to find that hot tears of her own slipped down, but she pushed past to slide her gaze up.

…What was she supposed to do?

Seriously, God, Cthulhu, whoever it was that existed if someone existed – right now. This second. What was she supposed to _do_?

Stay? Push Rachel away?_ Run_?

This was – out of them both, Santana hadn't expected her _cousin_ to be the one to do this. To take the lead.

But Santana's head was getting so _muzzy _that maybe that was a good thing. If Rachel didn't _push_, maybe she'd be able to hold herself back. Hold herself back and do the friends thing. Extricate herself and disappear into the Glee intervention like a good little ex-Cheerio-gleek-monster…

But not if Rachel continued looking at her like _that_.

Two steps become one. Sweat started to bead on Santana's forehead, her heart palpitating, rattling, stuck so far up in her throat it was sucking the moisture out of her mouth. But she couldn't look away.

Rachel took the last step forward. "'Tana… We need to discuss what happened." Her fingers tensed around Santana's, the rising and falling of her chest accelerating in Santana's peripheral vision. "Today. Y-yesterday."

_No_.

Santana shook her head, it taking all her strength not to shift her casted hand to make it easier for Rachel to hold her. "No," she almost coughed, panic managing to anchor her. No. There was no way they were going to talk about earlier that morning or yesterday –

Holy fuck. Was it only yesterday? _Fuck_, it _was_. It hadn't even been a _week _since Rachel had reappeared.

"No," she repeated, unable to come up with anything else to say. What? No, Rachel. Rache. I'm _never _going to fucking talk about breaking down for the _nth _time. No, I'm not going to talk about how I fucked up so much that it made you rip out my heart, barely able to patch it back up before I gave it to you all over again. No, I don't want to talk. I'm not going to relive it. Okay? No, I want to move on and figure out what the _fuck_ is going on and _what_ the fuck we can do and _why_ the fuck I love you so fucking much that I can't think of anything else because you're right in front of me and I've _needed you_ so bad, I've _missed_ you so_ fucking bad _that I have no idea why I'm not _claiming you right here, right now_.

Rachel's hand settled over her bicep, making her shudder. _Fuck_.

Santana did the only thing she could think of, the only safe way she could think of, the only way she _barely _managed to rein it in: she surged forward to wrap her arms around the girl she desperately loved, pushing their foreheads together. "Shh," she hissed, shaking her head and pressing Rachel's body harder into her, "Don't talk. Not now. I'm drunk, okay? I'm drunk and you feel too good and look too good, _god_, you even _sound_ too good, and I don't know what I'm going to do, okay? Okay, Rache? Just stop. _Stop_."

Stunned silence pulsed in the air.

Santana almost sobbed when Rachel's arms snaked up and around her back, her body shifting automatically to settle _completely fucking into _her. "You're drunk?" she let out in a strangled whisper, shaking her head. Her hair tickled Santana, her eyelashes close enough that Santana could feel them. Her heartbeat jumped under Santana's chest. "I want to talk to you and you're _drunk_?"

Santana managed a slight smile; anything was better than dissolving into tears. Hoping that what she would see wouldn't be completely negative – Rachel was hugging her back after all, wasn't she? – she pulled her head back enough to dip down so their eyes could meet.

Rachel stared up at her. Her eyes…

Santana forgot whatever it was she was going to say.

Breathing in deeply, Rachel blinked and flicked her gaze away. Still wrapped around Santana, she dropped her chin for a second before swallowing and looking back up. "You don't look drunk," she whispered, a small smile flirting with the corner of her mouth.

Santana licked her lips. She wanted to gently brush hair back from Rachel's face. Nuzzle her neck… She'd dropped her shields, and Santana could _see _every thought, every emotion flitting across her cousin's face. Fuck, she had to steady herself at the realization that Rachel was letting her back in. _Rache_… "What do I look like?"

A blush glowed across Rachel's cheeks, and she dropped her gaze.

"Rache," Santana whispered.

"Yes?"

…

Shifting on her feet to renew the feeling of Rachel against her arms and her body, to drink her in, _breathe _her in, Santana had to suck in a deep breath to collect her thoughts.

Being this close to Rachel was distracting. And with the whiskey, everything was burning, burning, burning _up_…

The wall met the backs of Santana's arms. Jerking a little, surprised at the sudden meeting, any action she might have done in response was lost when she realized that Rachel had tugged her forwards, making her trap herself between the wall and her body. "Rache?" passed clumsily from her lips.

Rachel's mouth parted, and an insistent hand suddenly cupped the back of Santana's neck. Their pelvises locked perfectly into each other's, and the heat traveled up and down through her body and into Rachel's, then back, boiling. Pressure rose in her chest, her skin tingling.

"Mmm?" Rachel hummed.

"What are you doing?"

Hot air blew across Santana's cheek and chin as Rachel sighed. "You're drunk," she mumbled. "Why are you drunk?"

Shame flowed through Santana, and she blinked, trying to shake it away with the shaking of her head. She frowned, keeping her eyes on Rachel's so she could ignore the arousing pressure of the small palm on the back of her head. "I didn't know you were coming," she almost accused, knowing she sounded defensive, "But I – " She cut herself off.

She knew she should let Rachel go.

She should…

But she didn't want to.

"You…?" The pressure on the back of her head increased, Rachel lifting her chin.

…There was a party in the other room, wasn't there? People… And she was drunk. Goddamn whiskey.

Rachel's breath blew across her lips again.

_Mmm_… Santana had to hold back a whimper.

This was a bad idea, right?

But, no, this was Rachel. Her home. Her missing piece. Her lover, her cousin, her Rache. '_Tana_ – Santana, original Santana – _'s_ Rache.

"I…"

"Yes…?" Rachel's voice so sweet, so breathy, so _warm_. Her body arched, and she drew Santana closer into her.

No…

No…?

_No_.

"No, we should – Rache – "

Rachel's eyes burned into hers, then closed. Her lips pursed, her hand flexed, her arm tightened around Santana's back.

Rachel had always been able to take her strength away. "No…" Santana managed to mumble once more.

Rachel's shush was almost inaudible, swallowed by Santana's mouth.


	31. Chapter 31

_When Rachel opened the door, tear tracks were already red on her face. Her lower lip trembled. "I didn't think you came," she whispered, her hand sliding down the doorknob._

_Santana watched its descent, then looked back up. "I didn't know if I was going to," she admitted quietly._

_Closing her eyes, Rachel nodded, turning and walking over to her dressing table. She picked up a hairbrush. "Did you see the whole…"_

_"Whole recital?" Santana met Rachel's gaze through the mirror, offering her cousin a small smile. "I did." Stepping forward, she slowly closed the door to the dressing room. When it latched, she slipped her hands into the pockets of her jacket. Feeling the cool plastic of the candy stars, a sad smile curled on her lips, and she licked them. "You… You were amazing."_

_Rachel's shoulders jumped, and she sagged, body becoming smaller in her reflection. She sniffed. "You're just saying that." She averted her gaze, the skin reddening around her eyes._

_"No." Shaking her head, Santana padded up behind her. Flexing the fingers of her hand, she drew in a deep breath, "You were." Hesitantly, she slipped her hand around Rachel's._

_Rachel turned. "'Tana…" Her eyelashes fluttered, her hand in Santana's trembling. Large tears started welling up in her eyes. _

_She didn't try to take her hand away._

_Santana took another step forward. She gently brushed Rachel's bangs away from the corner of her eye, sliding her palm down to cup her cheek. A hot tear slipped under her thumb, and she closed her eyes, feeling her own starting to build. She swallowed. "You're always amazing, Rache."_

_Rachel shifted closer, the sensation of her presence prickling the edges of Santana's brain. Small fingers brushed along her waist. "I thought we weren't going to be doing this."_

_The sad smile came back to Santana's lips. "We're not," she tried to say lightly, unable to keep the catch out of her voice, "I just… I can't tell you the truth?" She paused, her tears starting to swim into her vision. She blinked, dropping her hand._

_When she turned away, Rachel's grip on her jacket tightened. "'Tana – "_

_Courage beat hot in her chest. "I've never lied to you," she met Rachel's eyes squarely, making her voice as forceful as she could. She needed to say this now._

_Her cousin blinked, opening her mouth as her expression crumpled, a low sob building in the shadows of her eyes._

_Shaking her head, Santana could feel all of her shields falling apart, but she pushed on. "I've never lied to you, Rache. **Never**." Voice breaking, she reached forward, taking Rachel's shaking arms into her hands. Ignoring the frantic shaking of her head and panicked protests starting to fall from her lips, Santana pressed a slow, trembling kiss to her cousin's forehead._

_She didn't move back until hot tears poured down her neck, small arms moving up to wrap desperately around her shoulders; slowly, she slid her hands down to rest on Rachel's hips._

_"'Tana…" Rachel whispered into her neck, right above the jumping of Santana's pulse._

_Santana smiled painfully, clenching her eyes shut. Rachel's hair tickled the underside of her jaw, and she shifted to bury her nose into the skin above Rachel's ear. "Am I still your monster?" she whispered, "Rache. Am I… **Am I still your monster**?"_

_"Don't ask me that."_

_"No." Sucking in a deep breath, Santana reared her head back. Forcing Rachel to look at her, she stared directly into her eyes, doing her best to ignore the tears obscuring her vision and dripping down her cheeks. "**No**. Rache. Your monster. **Your**. **Monster**. Am I still **your monster**?" Digging her fingers into Rachel's hips, she almost shook the girl with her words. Everything was **hurting**, and she needed her cousin to **fix** everything for her. She **needed **to be Rachel's monster. **So why wasn't she answering her**? _

_"**Rachel**," she choked out, getting lightheaded from the pressure building in her head and chest, "**Please**. Am I… Am I your monster?" It felt like her heart was breaking. "Am I… **Rache**. Am I…?"_

_"**Yes**!" Raising her chin, Rachel swallowed, barely able to meet Santana's gaze as her voice cracked and broke, "Okay, 'Tana? Yes. **Yes**. You're my monster."_

_Closing her eyes, Santana sagged. Just a second later, soft lips pressed into hers. _

_Tasting salt, Santana added her own. _

* * *

Rachel's body was warm against her side. Acutely aware of how close she was, it was taking all of Santana's strength not to make it obvious Rachel's hand was slowly stroking along her thigh. Hiding her quick indrawn breath by taking a bite of pepperoni pizza, she knew that anyone looking into her hooded eyes would know what was going on.

Good thing they were focused on Matt and Quinn kissing instead. Thank god for small favors.

Still, she couldn't pass up the chance to tease her friend. "Aw yeah, Tubbers!" she crowed, giving the blond a big, sloppy smile, "Get yourself some fine-ass chocolate!"

"Hey!" Finn spluttered, glaring at her before turning his eyes back on his girlfriend, "C'mon, that's over a minute already."

Dropping her hands from Matt's head, the boy removing his from around her waist, Quinn made a face at Santana. Smoothing her hair, she gave Matt a patrician smile before moving back to accept the possessive arms Finn wrapped around her. "Finn, you know I only love you," she chided, leaning up to kiss the large monkey-boy anyway.

Faking gagging, Santana caught Matt's eye and winked, smirking at the leer and thumbs up he gave her. From personal experience, she knew how Matt kissed, so she wasn't surprised how much Quinn had seemed into it, or why Finn was so out of sorts.

But she had better things to do. Smacking her slice of pizza back down onto her plate and leaning forward to deposit in on the coffee table, she sat back, hand sliding under the blanket to cover Rachel's. Catching the resulting slight blush, she grinned widely, squeezing quickly and tightly, her heart skipping a beat when Rachel laced their fingers together. Again, heat glowed up through their touch, coiling in the area just below her stomach and streaming out through her body.

It was all she could do to not yell out to the fuckin' universe. Even if she wasn't a hundred percent sure it was a good idea, she was determined to take whatever she could get for that night, for that time.

Yeah, and what she'd already gotten – she almost purred in the back of her throat at the memory – what she'd already gotten was…

Her breath catching, the ever present sensation of arousal she knew she could attribute to Rachel rising in power again, she allowed herself to feel it. It was intoxicating, and damn, Santana wanted _more_.

To be honest, she and Rachel had gotten fucking lucky that no one had walked out of the living room, catching the two of them. Fucking, _so _fucking lucky.

Because, pressed up against Rachel's body, her mouth opening up under hers, and potent alcohol and hormones and almost three years of overwhelming yearning flowing through her veins, it hadn't taken much for Santana to lose control.

What made her heart explode was that Rachel hadn't stopped her.

Her hands clenched in Santana's hair and sliding, clutching at the muscles of her back, Rachel had gasped into Santana's mouth, her body almost vibrating. Fighting back the swirl of alcohol, determined to feel every little fucking thing she could, Santana had groaned and moaned, pushing Rachel back against the wall and her arms, not caring a single fucking bit that her hand was broken and it probably wasn't a good idea to be putting so much pressure on it. No. She hadn't fucking cared.

She'd dragged her lips up and down Rachel's mouth, reacquainting herself with every inch, with the taste of her saliva and teeth and skin and tongue, drinking in her breath. She'd sucked in the smell of the same, it combining with lemon and honeysuckle to give her her favorite smell in the world.

Santana closed her eyes, a smile playing on her lips. Stroking the back of Rachel's hand, she shivered at the small noise and shifting of Rachel's body she got in return. This… This was almost like the first time, the first blush of their relationship.

That uncertain time when they'd already exploded and were trying to pick up the pieces to figure out what came _after_ the explosion.

Sooner than Santana had expected, her and Rachel's kisses had slowed down, becoming less about devouring and more about rediscovering, testing out how they felt against each other and almost afraid to find out if they felt as much as they had before. When Rachel's lips had ghosted across her eyelids, trailing down her cheek, Santana had almost started crying, it was so achingly sweet.

And in the slowing down… She'd felt more.

Even if they hadn't _completely _melted into each other, and it had succeeded in only ending up confusing her, Rachel softly pushing her back and taking her good hand in her own, something had…

…Something had snapped back into place.

Clearing her throat, Rachel had smiled shyly up at her, Santana unable to stop herself from swooping down again to kiss the soft lips she'd never stopped dreaming about.

At that moment, it hadn't mattered that they were cousins, that they weren't supposed to be doing this. At that moment, Santana had Rachel, and Rachel so fucking had Santana.

And Santana wasn't going to fricken' blame the alcohol anymore.

She was in love with Rachel Berry, and that's just how it fucking was.


	32. Chapter 32

Santana was almost deliriously happy.

Rachel's hand was warm in hers. Warm, and feeling like it belonged.

Because it _did _belong. _Rachel _belonged. Belonged with _her_. _To_, _for _her. For her to have, to hold, to _be _with. And that was what this was now. Just sitting, being with her.

But…

How long would she be able keep a hold on her? Was this going to end with the night? With the party? This party, this glee party, was it even _real_? Was _this_ even real?

Or was this a one-shot thing, a taking advantage of the freedom alcohol gave you thing? Because, with gentle prodding and what evidently tasted like 'pink', Rachel had gotten more and more affectionate, willing to relax as she got more comfortable with the gleeks and their nosy stares.

Okay, as everyone got drunker, they got easier to fool.

But. That wasn't the point. Maybe if she didn't say anything, didn't corner Rachel, things could… Continue on for as long as they could…? She could continue blissfully ignoring what was the fuckin' _giant _elephant in the room. The fuckin' giant elephant in the room that would probably _never _go away. Never.

Not if Santana and her cousin continued on the same path. The path Santana didn't want to stray from.

God, couldn't she just… _Have _Rachel?

"So," she spoke up, deciding enough time had passed and she better do something before she used Rachel's hand to tug her over, even _closer_ than they already were, having to cough some roughness out of her voice, "Now that Q and Finnocence are all disgustingly and wholesomely patched up again, who's next?"

Detaching herself from Finn's lips, Quinn rolled her eyes. "I _believe_," she gave Santana pointed look, "It's _Rachel's _turn."

What? _Hell no_! No fucking way!

"Yeah," Kurt piped up, flicking his hair back in an incredibly gay way, "It's Miss Argyle's turn." He smirked at Santana. "Wonder who she'll have slobbering all over her?"

Kurt was a fucking asshole. What the hell was he playing at? _No one _was going to be slobbering all over Rachel except for _her_!

A chorus of disgusted groans followed his question, Rachel having a reluctant, unsure look on her face. She kept glancing at Santana and down at the empty bottle of rum, then out to everyone gathered in the circle, making a circuit. She made a low, hesitant, "I don't know…"

Growling low in her throat, Santana was only just able to stop herself from digging her fingernails into Rachel's hand. "No," she tried to keep the full extent of her _not okay _out of her voice, glaring daggers at Kurt, "I believe it was _your _turn, Gaymo." Fuck, the gay kid was just _looking _for a beat down, wasn't he?

And Quinn. Reserving another glare for the blonde, Santana grit her teeth at her. Raising her eyebrows at her, Quinn switched her gaze to Rachel, dropping one eyebrow to quirk the other at her. She had that calculating look on her face again.

"Actually, I th-th-think Santana's r-right," Tina blurted, taking a deep sip of her mixed drink to probably continue her sudden courage, "First K-Kurt, _then _Rachel."

Kurt huffed, finally shrugging drunkenly. "Whatever," he snipped, reaching out an obviously manicured hand towards the bottle, "I guess it's my cross to bear."

"Wait," Brittany furrowed her brow, shifting from where she was leaning against Artie's wheelchair to sit forward and peer at Kurt. She idly started to play with a lock of her hair, "Are you going to kiss a girl or boy?"

"I ain't kissing him!" Puck yelled, "No fucking way!"

Mercedes rolled her eyes violently, slapping her fortunately empty cup onto the floor. "No one's asked you to," she slurred a little. "'Sides, you already kissed _me_ two spins ago. You're not in the running."

Puck paused, looking dumbly at her. "…Oh," he offered, a slow, creeping smile stretching across his face, "Oh yeah! Fuck yeah!"

Puck was such a homophobe sometimes. At least he supported _her_. Probably had to do with hot lesbian action, though. And yeah… Santana couldn't blame him for that. It _was _fucking hot. Especially if it concerned her. …Or Rachel. _Mmm_.

But anyway. She had other shit to think about.

Chewing on the inside of her lower lip, Santana glanced down at Rachel. Nestled into her side as close as she could without giving it away to the drunken people in front of them (aside from Quinn who'd insisted on watching Santana and Rachel whenever she wasn't looking at Finn or Puck, for some odd reason. Seriously, what was up with that? Did the Pink Princess have an illicit attraction to Puck?).

Maybe, if Santana had been soberer or not wrapped up in Rachel, she'd have cared more. At the very least, she knew she and Quinn would have to talk at some point.

Just again, not now. Santana had to figure out how she was going to keep her cousin's lips all to herself. Because? Yeah, there was _no fucking way _Rachel was going to be _kissing_ anyone else! Sure, she'd agreed to play Spin the Bottle, knowing Rachel would have to agree to playing it too, especially when the damn gleeks blackmailed her into it by saying it was 'initiation' or some shit like that, but she hadn't expected the game to go on so damn long that it would _come _to Rachel!

"'Tana."

Shivering, Santana turned to look down at her cousin, still feeling her breath blowing across her ear as she whispered into it. "Yeah?"

Rachel smiled shyly at her. "You know it'll mean nothing." A shadow flickered in her eyes, but she blinked it away. "Just like you and Finn."

Santana winced. Yeah, that had been awkward. One of the first spins, and not able to grab Rachel and kiss Finn out of her, she'd had to grab her discarded whiskey bottle from earlier, taking a huge gulp to wash it out instead. Finn was decent to look at, she guessed, but he had _no _idea how to kiss someone who was obviously not Quinn.

Thank god for pepperoni pizza and whiskey to replace the feeling of his tongue. It wasn't Rachel's tongue, so she… Just didn't want it.

_Fuck_. What a sad, lovelorn fool she was…

Okay, now the alcohol was making her poetic. Or maybe that was Rachel?

Fuck, she snorted, it really didn't matter.

No, no, all that mattered was making sure Rachel was kept all to herself. She'd just gotten her cousin _back_. And she wasn't going to give her up to anyone else.

Even for a stupid ass game like Spin the Bottle.

But what could she _do_…?

Watching Kurt's spin and resulting incredibly awkward kiss with Tina, Santana shifted on her ass, using the tips of her hurt fingers to weakly grasp the blanket to pull it further up her and Rachel's waists. Looking down at the top of her cousin's head, taking in the bowed position, Santana narrowed her eyes in preparation for, once again, fighting for what was hers.

And maybe, just maybe… Things this time would go her way.

Even if it was just for tonight. Because, no matter how hard she tried, how tightly she held Rachel, and how much she drank, she couldn't shake the feeling that this night was a fluke in the colossal fuck-up that was her life.

Again, she prayed to whoever may exist that she was wrong.

But she didn't think she was.


	33. Chapter 33

Her fingers perched on the neck of the bottle, her body weight on one of her hands, thigh brushing against Santana's knee, Rachel had her lip captured securely between her teeth. Almost everyone seemed to be holding their breath, wide, eager expressions on their face as they waited for the spin. It was like it was the most fucking important spin of the bottle _ever_.

Santana's jaw ached with the pressure she was exerting on it, it taking all of her quickly disappearing control not to lunge forward, grab the bottle, and throw it at the nearest wall.

"…Alright." Rachel's whisper was soft, hesitant, and her eyes met Santana's before dropping. Her fingers tensed, and she spun.

Finn. Quinn. Tina. Matt. Brittany. Puck. Mike. Artie. Mercedes. Kurt. Santana. Rachel. Finn. Quinn. Tina. Matt. Brittany. Puck. Mike. Artie. Mercedes. Kurt. Santana. Rachel.

The sound of the glass rotating was pounding in Santana's ears, and she swallowed, narrowing her eyes and tightening her fist as the bottle started to slow.

Finn. Quinn. Tina. Matt. Brittany. Puck... Mike… Artie… Mercedes… Kurt… Santana… Rachel… _Finn_.

Santana's palm suddenly erupted in heat from a solid impact, her wrist wrenching to the right as she forced the bottle to stop. On. _Her_.

"Foul!" someone cried, Finn staring wide eyed at Santana, Quinn shaking her head in the corner, and Kurt furiously whispering to Tina and Mercedes. Barely noticing any of this, Santana lifted her hand, turned to Rachel, and not even bothering to get her permission, roughly cupped the back of her neck, surging forward to take her damn kiss.

The kiss was angry, something in Santana's mind commanding her to stake her claim, the heat of Rachel's mouth barely able to compete with the desperation her alcohol consumption supported. One of Rachel's hands skittered across her neck to her collarbone, fingers ending up curled against her shoulder blade. Her other clutched at her arm.

Kissing Rachel was like nothing else. She took her breath away, she breathed air into her lungs. It was a contradiction. Pain… Love… Arousal and guilt… It all swirled around, and Santana clenched her eyes shut as she pressed herself even harder into Rachel.

…What the hell was she doing? This… Not _here_. Not _now_.

The thud of her heart in her chest suddenly felt heavy, something on the peripheral of her consciousness telling her she had to stop this. _Now_.

Pulling back, an unconscious whimper blew across her lips, and Santana had to pause to gain the strength to continue letting her cousin go. What…?

"No," she muttered, licking her lips; able to taste Rachel still in her mouth, she stared into just opening dark eyes, Rachel's lips as swollen as Santana's felt.

The visceral reaction to Rachel's appearance shot straight through her, and awareness crashed into her brain. Oh god. Oh god. What had she just done? Yeah, _that's_ the fucking way to lie about her relationship with Rachel. _That's_ the way to try to take control of the situation. _That's_ the way to stop herself from getting hurt. From hurting _Rachel_.

From getting her hopes up and having Rachel hurt _her_.

No, that was the way to **_fuck everything up_**!

Jumping back, her spine screaming in pain when it crashed into the couch, she barely felt Rachel's arms falling away. Stumbling to her feet, Santana ignored the raised voices and hands reaching out to stop her, heading for the nearest door to the outside.

She… She needed to think. She needed to figure out what the fuck had just happened. _Why_ the kiss happened, how she had _let it_ happen. And… What it meant for her now.

Pushing open the door to Brittany's backyard, Santana barely faltered before wading forward into the lightly snowing darkness.

She'd figure out later why she always sought out the cold.


	34. Chapter 34

Shivering furiously, Santana didn't react when Rachel sat down on the gliding bench next to her, the wood creaking underneath her. She'd heard her approach from the crunch of the snow under her feet, and, anyway, she didn't have enough strength to get up and move. "I'm all out of guessing," she rasped, lungs cold.

It took Rachel a couple of seconds to respond. "About what?"

Santana would have smiled if she could have. At least she wasn't yelling. "How you're going to react."

"I do have a couple of options, don't I?" Breathing in deeply, Santana could see her worrying her hands together on her lap out of the corner of her eye. Her small shoulders shrugged. "I could be incredibly angry at you. Or hurt. Or completely _confused_." Her voice rose, and Santana averted her gaze. In the dim light from Brittany's parents' security light, the thin covering of snow on her legs that hadn't melted yet glittered.

It wasn't like Santana wasn't confused, too. Did she regret kissing Rachel? No. _Never_. If she could, she'd be kissing Rachel _now_.

She wanted to. _God, she wanted to_.

That would warm her up…

The quiet plop plop of falling snow picked up, and Santana hugged herself tighter, damning the shivers still taking their sweet time through her body. _What _had made her decide going outside into the night air without more than a light jacket was a good idea? _Fuck_. Her cast felt like a block of ice.

"'Tana."

Santana jerked, but continued staring at the glitter on her pants, more flakes falling and clinging to the fabric. "I don't know why I ran," she whispered, then shook her head. "No, I mean, I _know _why I ran. But I _don't know_." Her voice thick and slightly chattering, Santana finally raised her eyes to meet Rachel's. Her stomach twisted. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

Rachel dropped her gaze. She nodded.

"Rache… What are we doing?"

Rachel's hands were now huddled in her lap. "Are you still drunk?"

A rough, automatic laugh left Santana's lips. Lifting her head to look up at the snow drifting down from above, she shivered as snow-wetted hair slid across her neck. "No," she whispered. "Not really."

"Oh."

"Are you?"

After a couple of seconds, shifting fabric told Santana Rachel was shaking her head. Though that made Santana's stomach sour, she knew it… It was probably good.

When cold fingers brushed against her jaw, Santana blinked and dropped her head.

Rachel's eyes were building with tears. Small flakes of snow were sticking to her eyelashes, and it made Santana remember the winters they spent outside. "Your snowman…"

"What?"

Oh. Santana hadn't realized she'd said that out loud. Her lip curled up. "Your snowman," she repeated, fighting the urge to close her eyes and nuzzle the fingers still resting on her cheek. "Do you remember? When I dared you? And then, when you were about done, I snuck up on you and…"

"…And you made me fall into it." Nodding with a ghost of a smile on her face, Rachel took her hand away. "I remember."

The place her fingers had been felt colder than the rest of her body, and Santana's hand was wrapping around her cousin's wrist before she knew what she was doing. Her fingers were frozen stiff and not reacting as fast as she supposed they should, but Rachel wasn't protesting so it didn't really matter.

"You're ice cold…" Rachel murmured, studying their hands before looking up with dark, cloudy eyes.

Santana barely shrugged. "I deserve it," she husked, because she really did. "You looked so cute…" She licked her lips, barely able to feel the heat of Rachel's skin seeping into her own; maybe she was colder than she thought.

Rachel was leaning closer…

Rachel was leaning closer?

"No." Tightening her grip around Rachel's wrist, Santana shook her head. Tears burned at her eyes, and she tried to hold them back. "No, Rache, we can't."

"What…?" Rachel stared at her. "You… _You're _saying this?" Her voice rose.

Santana was. "I know," she failed in smiling, "But I am. Rache, I…"

"No, no, _no_." Shaking her head, Rachel rotated her wrist so she could grasp Santana's hand. Her expression was quickly turning from shock to desperation. "No. '_Tana_. I thought we – t-_tonight_. You… You kissed me back and then, w-with the _Spin the Bottle_. You _kissed _me. In front of everyone and, and…"

Oh _god_.

Bursting into tears, Rachel's fingernails were digging into Santana's hand, and her other hand was twitching, her cousin obviously fighting against throwing herself at her. Oh god, _Rachel_.

"It… It wasn't because I was drunk? That _you _were drunk…?" Santana could barely hear her own voice, but she had no breath to form anything louder.

"You thought I was taking _advantage _of you?" Her cheeks flooding with color, Rachel yanked her wrist back and stood up.

Santana didn't know what to think. Her heart, which had constricted the moment Rachel had sat down next to her, was suddenly loosening, dropping to the bottom of her chest. Still chattering, she had to strain to hear Rachel over the sound of her teeth.

"So, if that was _me _taking advantage of _you_, _you're _the one who threw the whole Spin the Bottle, Santana! Oh yeah, I _wanted _you to do that." Rachel shook her head, swallowing and putting a hand over her eyes so the thickening snow wouldn't blind her, "I… I don't _know_ those people, 'Tana. They're _your _friends. But you k-kiss me in front of them, so now what? _What_? _Tell _me, 'Tana. _What_?"

Slumping back on the bench, Santana clenched her eyes shut as Rachel's angry tirade started echoing in her ears. The snow was much colder and stickier, but Santana didn't want to move. _Couldn't_ move.

She'd thought it hadn't been… Oh god, she hadn't thought it'd been fuckin' _real_.

The time she'd spent outside before her cousin had found her had been _horrible_. She'd run through everything that had happened, every thought and gesture and smile and look. Even the parts that had been through fuzzy memories. She'd tried to wade through her panic and aching want and need and pain and confusion, but she'd…

She'd never thought it was _real_.

Because it wasn't _supposed_ to be! Right? _Right_?

No. Nothing was making sense.

Rachel was still saying something, but Santana couldn't understand the words anymore. She wasn't sure if that was because she didn't _want _to, or that her cousin was talking too fast for Santana's iced senses to pick up, but Santana honestly didn't give a fuck anymore. Pushing her palm against the frozen bench, she hoisted herself up. Her body protesting the change in position, she lurched up and managed the quick few steps into Rachel's space. Catching the small girl's arm and pulling her in, Santana drew Rachel's head to nestle against her neck. "Rache…" she whispered, needing Rachel to calm down, to stop crying, to stop _hurting_, "Rache, please."

It took a couple of endless seconds before Rachel's arms snaked around Santana's waist. Her face was burning hot against Santana's skin, and it made her heart break to realize part of that was because her cousin was sobbing into her. If possible, that was making her colder than the snow and night were.

She didn't know what to do. She'd convinced herself it hadn't been real. It was easier to believe that. It…

It had felt safer.

Because loving Rachel from afar? Santana knew she could do that. She'd _always _done that, hadn't _stopped _doing that.

She'd convinced herself it was better that way. Push Rachel away before Rachel grew sober and did it for her. Because Santana could only handle having her friendship.

Her life was so messed up. She didn't have a home to go to, not really. And if her parents or Rachel's parents knew they not only were in each others' lives again but… But _being _together again…

She didn't think she could survive that.

But now that she _knew_…

"You're freezing."

Santana nodded. She knew that, but she didn't care. Lemon and honeysuckle was making her heart pound, and the possibility of holding Rachel close and never letting her go meant so much more to her than if she was hot or cold.

"No. 'Tana. You're _really _cold." Pushing herself back, Rachel stared at her. Above reddened eyes, her eyebrows were furrowing, and one of her hands was cupping Santana's cheek before sliding to her forehead. Her fingers and palm felt so warm Santana closed her eyes and pressed into the feeling. "You're like _ice_."

"Don't care."

Rachel's arm tightened around her waist. "C'mon, let's go inside."

Santana tried to lock her knees and found they already were. If they went inside…

"'Tana."

Shaking her head, Santana pushed against Rachel's hand to bury her nose into Rachel's hair, fighting the flinch from the melting snow that soaked into her skin.

Rachel tried to pull back again, but Santana held on. "No, Rache. Please, not yet," she whispered, rubbing her cheek back and forth, trying to memorize the feeling of her cousin's body against her, focusing on that and blocking out the cold and the wet and the discomfort, "Please. Let me have this."

Rachel stilled. She drew in a deep, ragged breath, and when she spoke, her breath hot through Santana's shirt, her voice was lost and so, so shaky, "You're _really_…?"

"I don't _want _to be," Santana forced out, because, _fuck_, she _didn't_. But she _had _to.

God dammit. How the hell had she gotten to that decision, again? Wasn't this _everything she wanted_? Everything she had _ever _wanted?

"…Oh my god." Rachel's voice was quiet, so quiet, and her body had lost all its rigidity. Leaning her full weight onto Santana's body, Rachel started crying again, but it was less hysterical and more utterly defeated.

Like she had given up.

Santana had never heard anything worse. "Rache," she whispered, starting to cry herself and holding onto Rachel as tight as she could, as fuckin' _strong _as she could, "I don't want to be. But we _can't_. Not right now. God, I wish we _could_. Do you know how much I… How much I _love _you?" She crushed Rachel to her, _having_ to believe her cousin could hear her. Because if she _couldn't_… Her breaking heart couldn't handle it if she couldn't. "But we _can't._"

Why was she doing this? There had to be a reason. Had to. Right…?

Did she…

Did she even _know_?

Oh god. Santana didn't even know why she was doing this. She just knew she had to.

And she knew her heart was breaking even more. Would continue to break…

Would never stop breaking.

_Rachel_…

"_Why_? _Why _can't we?" As if the weakness had been a responsive wave crashing through her body, Rachel was now recovering, her hands clutching at Santana's shirt and her pushing herself violently against Santana, who was dying from the air getting sucked out of her lungs with each shuddering breath.

Suddenly, as if realizing that tactic wasn't working, Rachel's hands were thrust up, moving back to scramble at Santana's neck and head. Pulling some of Santana's hair in the process, the small girl's mouth was hard and insistent and furious against Santana's as Rachel gave her all her anger and sadness and heartbreak and pain and love. The second Rachel's lips touched hers, Santana's heart stopped.

What was she supposed to do? Kiss Rachel back? Push her away? Neither? Both?

Her body wanted to kiss her. _Ohh god fucking damn_ did it want to.

And her mind was conflicted. It wanted Rachel too. It did. So much. So. Fucking. _Much_. But hadn't it _just_ made a decision?

Oh god. Santana was dying. She had to be.

What… What was she supposed to _do_?


	35. Chapter 35

_It was their first sleepover after the day in their clearing. After the emotional confrontation in the dressing room. It was a week later, and Santana's heart was threatening to drill its way through her chest. She had camped out in the front room, trying to pretend she was working on one of the drawings she'd started in class last year and hadn't finished, but all she could do was draw the worst little portraits of her and Rachel. _

_Her mother had come by to offer her freshly made lemonade, and in the middle of one of her anxious sips, she heard the familiar honk of her uncles' car. Heart tripping in her chest and feeling her lungs constricting, Santana almost spilled her lemonade when she jumped up. Toppling her sketchpad and pencil instead, she stared down at the mess, blinked, then ran towards the door, looking around frantically for some kind of flat surface for her glass. After deciding the windowsill was the best place, Santana yanked open the front door just as Rachel and her fathers were clearing the gate._

_Staring, heat rippled through Santana's body, and before she knew it, she was grabbing Rachel's overnight bag from her hand and replacing it with her hand, tugging her inside. Calling belated hellos to her uncles, she quickly dragged her cousin up to her room. Dropping the bag and shutting the door firmly behind them, she stared into bright brown eyes. Her lips curled up. "Hi."_

_Rachel, a blush soft on her cheeks and her eyes full of shyness, smiled back. "Hi."_

_Santana almost melted. Her hand starting to sweat around Rachel's, she was just about to drop it when Rachel took a step forward and pulled Santana towards her at the same time. Small arms slid around her sides, a cold nose and hot breath pressing into the side of her neck. She shivered, and when Rachel whispered, "I missed you…" she shivered again._

_Breathing in the unique scent of Rachel's shampoo, Santana locked her arms around her shoulders and smiled, closing her eyes. "I missed you too."_

* * *

"Too many people know we're cousins."

Rachel shifted her head to look up at Santana. "What?"

Sighing, Santana met her gaze sadly. Using her hand to brush a stray lock of hair behind Rachel's ear, she trailed her fingers down her cheek, dropping it to her thigh when she reached her jaw. "At William McKinley High. People we grew up with." Sure, Rachel's skin was warmer than her cold jeans, but it was hurting too much to continue touching her.

Even if her arm was around Rachel's waist, her cousin in between her legs and snuggled back into her chest. Santana knew it wasn't right and shouldn't be happening, but…

She didn't care.

She just didn't care anymore.

Not right now. Not when they were hidden away in Brittany's bedroom, leaning back against the bed because truthfully? Her and Rachel on a bed, not even _doing _anything, just… Would not be good.

God. Too much shit _still _moving through her head. Like the walrus and the clam and whatever the hell that bird was from Alice in Wonderland, the animals walking around in circles under the water and out. At least that's what she remembered, and the salt and pepper in preparation for eating the clam, which you know, could be some trippy metaphor for the clam being her and Rachel and the salt and pepper each kiss and touch they exchanged. Each one led closer and closer to imminent danger, the bird – wait a minute. There _wasn't _a damn bird, was there? Was it _just _the walrus?

Whatever, fuck it. The walrus/bird was the school. Just to finish the fucking metaphor.

Rachel's fingers slid along her fingertips, something she'd been doing for a while now, making tingling run up her nerves and under the cast. Santana did have to admit it was making her hand warmer. In fact, most of her was warmer now. The places that touched Rachel certainly were.

Having stripped off their outer jackets as soon as they'd reached Brittany's room, Santana had silently gone to the bathroom to grab a couple of towels. But when she had tried to give one to Rachel and keep one for herself, her cousin had adopted a determined expression, rubbing the towel over Santana's hair and face and neck and cast herself. Truth be told, Santana had almost cried.

Then, when Rachel was done and dropped her towel, looking up at her expectantly, Santana had slid herself closer and gently, so gently started repaying the favor. Feeling the heat radiating from her body and highly aware of the expression on Rachel's face and the tension that had barely abated since they'd come inside, Santana hadn't been all that surprised when, when she finished and discarded the towel with Rachel's, she cupped Rachel's chin, stroked her thumb over the corner of her mouth, and, searching Rachel's eyes, pressed a wanting, firm kiss against her lips.

It hadn't been hot and heavy, as desperate as it had been outside and earlier that day. It… It had been, again, achingly _complete_.

Was it ever going to be anything else?

No… Santana didn't know what she was doing anymore.

Finally, Rachel's answer was quiet, low and regretful, "I know. I saw Archie practically as soon as I got dropped off." She sounded just as exhausted as Santana felt.

Rachel's free hand sought out Santana's, but she didn't bother fighting the automatic _electricity _that rippled from their laced fingers. Santana knew this was wrong. But… How could something that felt like _this _be _wrong_?

Santana had read once, somewhere, sometime, that it was supposed be part of a human's makeup, or something like that, that a person wasn't attracted to their relatives. There was a 'sense of instinctual discomfort' or something.

Yeah, fuck that. That must've gotten lost in the _other_ seven eighths. Because she and Rachel? _Never _felt discomfort. Not until they'd already fallen for each other and their brains and morals waged fuckin' nuclear _wars _with their hearts. The Axis against the Allies. World War Two on steroids. Hell, World War Two on a _cocktail _of fuckin' drugs.

Oh _god_. Her head was _not _a history book.

Groaning, she sat up straight, drawing her legs in closer and bending them a little so she could shift and wrap her arms tightly around Rachel, settling her chin on her shoulder. Trying not to shiver from the unavoidable still-wet of the combination of their hair, she closed her eyes. "Do you think we can really do this?" she managed to get out even as her chest constricted and she burrowed further into Rachel's body.

Rachel did shiver. Pressing Santana's arms hard against herself, she let her head fall back and slid against Santana's cheek. "I don't know," she whispered, pausing, then whispered again, earnest, as if she was trying to convince herself, "But we have to try."

Santana let out a breath. "Have to?"

"'Tana." Turning her head enough that their noses brushed, Rachel looked at her with eyes completely free of any walls, swimming with tears and conviction and pain and… _Love_. "'Tana, I can't be without you again. Can you…" She trailed off, her expression hardening even as her eyelashes and chin started to tremble, "Can you be _without me_?"

"_No._" There wasn't any fucking hesitation. "_God no_."

And that was it, wasn't it? The reason why she was here, hiding in Brittany's bedroom, holding Rachel as close as she conceivably could. Why she'd broken down and kissed Rachel back in the snow, the cold, the _moment_ their relationship had gone too far again.

The reason for _everything_. Rachel.

She wasn't going to pretend it was going to be easy. Like she'd said, too many people knew who they were to each other, knew they were cousins. Hell, it'd been practically a _miracle _that none of the glee kids had known them before. And truth was it probably wouldn't stay a secret from them very much longer, either. It was a small school and practically small town. But Santana was counting on the alcohol obscuring their memories, counting on her and Rachel acting _completely _respectable around them now. Respectable in school, parties, anywhere where other people than Puck, Brittany, and, well, Quinn eventually, were.

It was exactly like before. It was going to be hard, horrible, almost impossible, and excruciatingly _painful_, but it wasn't like they wouldn't do any different. Like they didn't _want _to do any different. No.

They _couldn't _do any different.


	36. Chapter 36

Rachel was crying.

It was soft, and it wasn't out of control. It was a release of tension, and Santana stared at her because she was afraid that if she closed her eyes she would disappear. Even with Rachel on her lap and her tears soaking her collarbone, Santana couldn't bear it if it wasn't _real_. Thank god her cousin was so small it wasn't hard to just… _Hold _her.

Except for a couple of years in elementary school, Rachel had always been smaller than Santana. But not only was she smaller than Santana, she was younger, which meant that Santana had always taken it upon herself to protect her. Take care of her. Watch over her. Just _be _there for her. And she hadn't taken no for an answer.

Sure, she'd gotten into trouble sometimes, and hell, she had to deal with her fricken' annoying probation officer because of what she'd done to Mr. Pujo. But he deserved it, the fucker. Going off on Rachel just wasn't _done_. Besides, it wasn't like she'd permanently maimed him. That was reserved for the next dead man who _dared_ mess with _her_ Rachel.

…Her Rachel. How long had it been since she'd been able to say, think, _believe_ that?

Tears swam, and Santana clamped her jaw shut to hold them back. No. She was being strong for Rachel. For all of the emotional whiplash she'd forced her into that night. It was the least she could do.

Hot and cold. Reluctant and aggressive. Pushing forward then running away… Santana swallowed, shifting enough so her body would once again search out and register the feeling of Rachel in her arms.

When Rachel barely acknowledged the movement, arm tightening around Santana's waist, Santana's heart skipped a beat. "Hey," she whispered, stroking Rachel's hair back from her face, "Are you fallin' asleep on me?"

"Mmm…" Rachel mumbled, her hand getting a better grip on Santana's shirt, "If I were, would that be okay?" Her voice was thick, but she didn't sound like tears anymore even if the sniffling she was doing was making her breathe through her mouth.

A wide, silly grin slowly grew on Santana's lips, and she chuckled affectionately. "Only if it's not sitting up," she warned, "Cuz' that's _so _not comfortable."

Breathing in deeply, holding it, then letting it out slowly, Rachel let out a low noise and lifted her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered, smiling hesitantly, "I didn't mean to fall apart on you."

_Rache_. She didn't have to worry about that. The fact that Santana got to even _be _with Rachel blew her mind. She just… Couldn't believe it. "It's alright," she smiled, and, without even thinking about it, dipped her head.

Rachel's lips didn't hesitate to meet her own.

Kissing Rachel, more than anyone else, was more personal, special, _closer_. Even if every time Santana touched Rachel, she could _feel _her, touching her and _kissing _her felt like Rachel had crawled inside and curled up around her heart. She could feel her with every pulse of her heart, each breath.

She'd missed that feeling. A broken heart without its keeper had shut her down.

It had _fuckin' **hurt**_.

She'd missed the feeling of Rachel's breath against her, her skin and tongue and nose and lips all sliding along hers. Her unique taste and smell and sounds, her body reaching out for hers. Everything that Rachel _allowed_ her to have.

They'd spent hours kissing each other, trying out different styles or just basking in the sensation of doing something both desperately wanted to do.

They'd spent months kissing each other. Hiding in each other's rooms, slipping away from family visits, anytime and anywhere they could. Santana had mapped out Rachel's mouth, and once she'd finished, she did it again, and again and again and again.

They'd spent all the time they had exploring the passion that was new and old and _changed_, leaving them breathless and disheveled, bodies locked together as tightly as they could be.

But with their exploration came reality knocking on the door. They'd almost gotten caught many times during those first months, but they'd been pretty damn fuckin' lucky. Because they had been such good friends to begin with, attached at the hip and _freakishly close_ according to her older brother, they were able to get away with more than they should have.

That didn't mean that they hadn't been terrified most of the time, though. Because they had been. Totally and overwhelmingly terrified that it had just made them cling to each other even more.

And the horrible reality? Those had been the _good_ days.

Good days.

But… Was _now _another _good day_?

It…

It really could be.

No matter all the shit she was going through. _They _were going through.

Because, for now, none of that mattered. Or _seemed _to matter. Not their family rift, not her social status, not glee. Not _anything_.

Just Rachel. Her and Rachel.

_Together_.

"'Tana?" Rachel whispered.

"Mmhm?" Santana whispered back. God, she'd _never _grow tired of hearing that tone in Rachel's voice…

Rachel's lips pressed into her own again. "Did you lock the door?"

_Had _she? …Yes. She had. Santana kissed her back. "Mmhm."

Rachel sighed. "Good," she murmured, warm breath flowing over Santana's mouth, fingers sliding up to curl around her neck and pull her in deeper, "Good."


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: **I don't own the song _Bleeding Love _by Leona Lewis. Also, _finally_ got back on track with where I'm going with this story. Looking forward to the next chapter, too.

* * *

What would her parents be thinking of her now? Santana asked the ceiling of Brittany's room. What would they say if they knew where she was at that moment? Who she was with? Whose breast she had laid her head on, whose legs she had tangled with hers? Whose arms were wrapped tightly around her shoulders, whose stomach was rising slow and steady against her chest and arm, whose breath was warm and soft against her forehead?

Unwilling to move to brush a bang from the edge of her eye, Santana blinked furiously, trying to tell herself it was because of that and not the tears trailing down her cheeks. Rachel's stomach gurgled, and another sob welled up in Santana's chest.

Fuck.

She hurt.

A soft sigh blew cold against her tears, and Santana bit down on her lower lip so she didn't shiver, feeling her left hand spasm anyway.

She wanted to be mad at Rachel for falling asleep. Wanted to be mad at her for not _knowing _Santana was crying, for not pulling her even _closer _and lying to her, not telling her they weren't doomed.

Rachel's body felt solid under her, warm and frightening, something needed to be clutched to Santana's chest to be never let go. How could Santana bear her leaving again? If not for _forever_, she shuddered, more tears spilling out of her eyes, but for when the bubble burst and someone came to pull her back out of the room and back home.

Santana didn't want her cousin to go. _Fuck no_, she didn't. It felt like if she did Santana wouldn't stop bleeding.

_You cut me open and I keep bleeding… Keep, keep bleeding love…_

That had been their song.

_But I don't care what they say; I'm in love with you. They try to pull me away, but they don't know the truth._

Starting to mouth the words she'd sung millions of times, Santana turned her head to press her lips against her cousin's arm; even though she knew it was ridiculous to think she'd feel it, it somehow made Santana feel better.

Maybe she just needed the extra contact. Maybe it would make the pain flowing through her body disappear for one _single damn fucking moment_.

And what the hell kind of pain _was _it? Physical, because of her hand finally yelling at her for fucking it up with the cold and the exertion of using it far more than she should have? Mental, because of the total mind fuck she'd been in for not even a fucking week? Emotional? Because of being so completely in love it rendered her powerless in the face of _not _being in love?

Not being in love… What did that even feel like? _Had_ she ever felt that? Had she never been in love with Rachel?

No.

There'd been her cousin for _so long_ that she didn't think she could even say she'd never loved her.

No matter how many times or how hard she had told herself she didn't love her anymore.

Love… What had decided she and Rachel would have to go through this?

Someone's sick idea of a joke? God's sick idea of a joke?

Santana had believed in God, back when she was little and knew nothing more than being her parents' daughter and siblings' sister and uncles' niece and Rachel's Santana. But after everything that had happened…

She didn't know what to think anymore.

A soft rap on the door made her tense, heart beating loud in her chest. When it came again, she swallowed to try to get saliva back into her mouth, taking a deep breath. Craning her head up, she husked, "Yeah?"

"It's me," Quinn's soft voice came through the door, "Can I come in?"

"Just a minute, Q." Sighing, Santana put her head back down onto Rachel's chest; she hadn't woken up, and Santana was still caught in her embrace. Though she felt like she could be mad at Quinn for interrupting them, she wasn't. Not really. At least she'd distract her mind.

Pulling her casted hand up to wipe her eyes with her bicep as best as she could, Santana snuffled, then dropped her head to kiss Rachel's chin. "Hey, Rache," she whispered, sliding her palm along her arm, "I need to get up."

Rachel mumbled something, her arms tightening around Santana's shoulders.

Santana's heart squeezed. "Rache," she smiled, "C'mon. I gots to get up."

"Mmm… I told you to stop talking like that," Rachel mumbled again, gasping when Santana swooped down to kiss her. Cuz', you know, she could. And maybe she needed it. The contact, the reaffirmation.

The pure pleasure of Rachel's mouth under hers.

She may have been feeling a little better after her emotional breakdown, but that didn't mean she didn't still want something good. And with Quinn coming in soon, busting their bubble, she'd take all the good she could.

Rachel's lips were so soft. Opening and moving under hers, her hands sliding up and down Santana's back as she pushed up into her, pulling Santana down onto her. "You're still here," she whispered, a hand tugging at Santana's hair.

Heat and pure sensation spiraled straight to Santana's middle, bursting out to run along her skin. "Right, right," she promised, pressing herself closer, "I'm here."

She was, and she didn't want to leave. _Ev__er_ leave.

…But Quinn was at the door, wasn't she?

Slowly pulling herself back, feeling swollen lips still searching for hers, feeling the heat of her cousin's body still being so intoxicating, and having to fight off the fear that once _this _embrace ended, _everything _would end, Santana smiled down at Rachel, brushing her fingers along her cheek. She sighed, willing her body to unwind as she began to try and ease the panic and energy to flow from her body. "It's just Q," she dipped her head, "You all good?"

Sitting up as well, Rachel straightened her shirt, then reached out and straightened Santana's.

Watching her, Santana swallowed. This… Was so _normal_.

"If we must," Rachel gave her a small smile, pushing herself up to her feet. Pausing, and bending down to press a slow, loving kiss to Santana's cheek, she took a seat on the end of the bed behind her. The compressing of the bed springs under her flared the awareness in Santana's body, and she had to curl her good hand into a fist to stop herself from doing something incredibly, incredibly, fucking _incredibly_ stupid.

No. Now was not the time.

They needed to rebuild their relationship first anyway.

…Right?

…Right.

And now was _certainly_ not the time to be having _those_ thoughts. No. Now was Quinn Fabray time.

Standing up, Santana stretched, shaking her hair out. Her muscles weren't very happy, but _fuck_, she'd do everything over again, pain be damned. She'd gotten to hold Rachel. She'd been held by Rachel. She'd had _Rachel_. After almost three years, that was all that mattered. All that she was going to _make _matter.

So, yup. As long as Quinn wasn't too nosey, she'd be okay. Her heartbeat would slow down, the heat simmering in her body would go away, and Santana could deal.

Taking Brittany's desk chair for her own seat, Santana affixed her token noncommittal expression and raised her voice, "Kay, Q, go for it."

The door swung open, "About time," and the look of relief on Quinn's face as she slipped inside was surprising. "Good, you're both in here," she offered, giving Rachel a small smile before closing the door and walking over to take a seat on the bed, being nice to choose the side of Santana Rachel was already on so she wouldn't have to split her attention back and forth, "B was freaking out that the yetis had gotten you or something." Her expression clearly indicated what she thought about that.

Rachel shyly smiled, using one hand to push hair behind her ear. "No, no yetis. We just had some… Things… To talk about."

"In the middle of a snowstorm? S, are you _trying _to freeze to death?"

Santana shrugged. "I survived din't I?"

"Yeah, like that's a response." Sighing, Quinn absently put a hand to her stomach. That seemed to spark something in her memory, and she looked up. "Oh, B also wanted to make sure you guys had gotten enough to eat. She's getting tired guarding pizza and _your whiskey_," she said pointedly at Santana, "Because the guys brought DDR and she really wants to play."

Ignoring the poke at her alcohol intake, Santana raised her eyebrows. "They're still here? Damn, what time is it?"

"A little after twelve, apparently," Rachel answered, looking at the clock on the bedside table. "Good thing I told my dads I had been invited to a glee initiation sleepover, huh?" She gave both Santana and Quinn a fleeting smile.

Oh great. Remind Santana of her quitting glee. Again, great. Fucking _great_. No, wait, remind _Quinn _of Santana quitting glee. Santana sent her a glare before she could bring it up, and Quinn rolled her eyes. "Rachel," she started, turning her head to look at her, smiling slightly, "Seeing as you never got to have an audition, why don't you come downstairs and take a turn on the karaoke machine Kurt brought?" When Rachel hesitated, eyes flicking towards Santana, Quinn shook her head, "Don't worry, everyone else's too drunk to care about what happened earlier."

So Rachel _hadn't_ auditioned yet? And, oh god, what would Rachel's voice sound like _now_? After more years of study? Maturing of her voice?

"Oh. Okay. No, that sounds great, actually." Looking a bit more confidant, Rachel smiled. "'Tana?" she turned her smile onto Santana, looking eager and excited and so so so _damn_ adorable, "Want to join the others now?"

That meant Santana would be able to hear Rachel singing for the first time in almost three years at the same time the gleeks heard her for the first time. If she didn't get a private show first, at least she could share the glory. She could handle that. Yes. "Well," Santana shrugged, giving a what she couldn't stop from being a somewhat sad, affectionately teasing smile to her cousin, "If you don't mind that I don't have any sugar stars for you."


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: **A little housekeeping first. When I first started this fic, it was not known that Rachel was actually chronologically a year younger than everyone else in her grade due to her birthday being in December, Santana's mother wasn't named, and I hadn't noticed that Santana was actually left handed. Good thing I don't think I ever named the Berry men, so there's that, at least. But for the others, this is already obviously an A/U, so let's just keep it called that and let all those little things I've thought about over the years now slide. Thanks.

**A/N2: **I finally decided that waiting to be back in the same place to continue this story was silly as I was never going to be back in the same place, so said phooey on that empty excuse and ventured forth!

* * *

_Snuggled up on the couch, Rachel's feet in her lap as they laughed at Finding Nemo, Santana's hand was sliding up and down her leg, stroking as softly as she could so they wouldn't be caught. Rachel's eyes had flickered over to hers too many times to count, but it wasn't like Santana hadn't been looking back._

_Heat had steadily been rising between them, as it had done so often lately, thick and blatant, electric. The pads of Santana's fingers tingled, her body automatically reaching for the other girl. _

_It had been only forty-five minutes since their last stolen kiss, hurried between Santana's parents leaving the room to start on dinner and Miguel's older brother sneer at the girls watching a "cartoon" before settling in to watch on the chair opposite, but Santana knew it was all Rachel could think about too. _

_They still hadn't defined __**it**__, whatever it was between them, but after giving in and admitting that they couldn't stay away, the heat, the __**prickling**__ of awareness and need had only grown between them._

_It was exhilarating._

_It was terrifying._

_It was something neither could ignore._

_And that, Santana held her breath as she added her fingernails to her stroke, unable to hold back a loud chuckle at Rachel's indignant squawk and jerk of feet from her lap, putting her arms up in front of her face to block the pillow aimed at it, perhaps was what was most scary about it._

_"That was mean," Rachel huffed, crossing her arms after dropping the pillow and pouting at her, one corner of her lips quirking up insolently._

_Santana couldn't help licking her lips after looking at it, and she quickly glanced over at her brother to see if he was paying attention. "No," she drawled, relieved to see that he was still paying attention to the TV, shifting her body to more face her cousin, "It's that you're just too ticklish."_

_"Well, you shouldn't have tickled me!" Upgrading her pout into a scowl, Rachel sat up on her knees, propping her palm onto the top of the couch to lean in towards Santana, her other hand cocked and tensed as if it was going to shoot forward and try to tickle Santana back._

_Santana laughed again. Her heart was pounding, but with another look at her brother, she allowed herself to lean back, tilting her head in challenge. "You wouldn't dare."_

_Glancing down, at Santana's chest, Rachel's lips parted. Santana flushed, and Rachel snapped her gaze back up. "Are you really doubting me, 'Tana?"_

_Her heartbeat tripling, Santana still somehow succeeded in giving her a smirk._

_The resulting squeal as Rachel went for broke and actually dared to pounce onto her, hands searching out all over her torso and waist, was all that was needed to make Miguel, groaning and rolling his eyes, leave them alone, muttering how he'll catch it on Netflix later, because, god, they were such __**freaks**__._

_Flailing, trying to use her taller body to turn the tables on her cousin, Santana couldn't stop laughing; Rachel was nothing if not insistent and strong when determined. Wrapping her arms around Rachel's body, trying to trap her arms and hands, she had to gasp, biting back a moan when hands other than her own landed on her breasts. _

_Rachel froze._

_Santana couldn't breathe. It was like, suddenly, her whole body was something more than flesh and bone. _

**_An inferno_**_, was all she could think with her eyes slamming closed, her hands taloned on Rachel's shoulders losing their grip as the girl ripped away. Santana couldn't stop herself from making a sound of surprise and loss as suddenly she was alone on the couch, Rachel plopping to the floor next to her._

_"I'm so sorry!" Rachel gasped, voice high and almost panicked, disappearing into her palms as she lifted her hands to her face. "God, I'm, I'm such a pervert! That was __**so **__wrong, I'm sorry – !"_

_Blinking wildly, face hot and heart pounding and reeling with all the feelings of what was there and not anymore, Santana collected herself enough to throw her hand out, first tapping Rachel's shoulder with the back of her knuckles before twisting her wrist to clamp down. "Rache, mmm, Rache," she laughed, almost painfully, having to cough and clear her throat and shake her head before continuing, "You're fine, alright? I know…" Lowering her voice, she furtively stared at the door leading into the kitchen and other rooms, then turned back, "You didn't mean to, but accidents, hey, Rache, look at me, they happen, and we're okay."_

_She didn't say how sickly good it had made her feel. Nor how inside, she couldn't help wondering about if they ever…_

_Would they ever __**go**__ that far?_

_The tops of Rachel's ears were red, dark, but her hair moved, signifying she was nodding. Good. Distracted back into the moment, Santana hmmed, managing to smile as she tapped her fingers on Rachel's shoulder, breathing in deeply as she pulled away, "We's all's right." She had to laugh again at the disgruntled exhalation that got, murmuring affectionately, "You're a dweeb," and straightened and patted the spot next to her. Picking up the remote control to rewind the movie, she lightly kicked Rachel's side, grinning at her when she looked up. "C'mon, sit up here with me. I promise I won't tickle you again."_

_"I don't believe you," Rachel muttered. Santana swore she could see a dark eye peering up at her._

_Santana smirked toothily. "Just gonna hafta trust me." She opened her arms, wiggling her eyebrows. "C'mere." _

_She wondered if Rachel could see how honest she was being behind the teasing. Or how unsure she was. _

_Breathing in deeply, Rachel pushed herself up, sliding slowly onto the couch next to her. Their shoulders and sides touching, she blushed, blindly whacking Santana's stomach when she smirked at her again. "I don't know why I like you," she whispered._

_"I do." Santana pulled her hand into hers. Squeezing her fingers, almost breathless from the __**everything **__holding Rachel's hand always did, she clicked the movie back on and relaxed to make sure they looked sufficiently innocent, "It's because I'm the only one who can handle you."_

_Rachel's lips curved up. "And vice versa."_

_Santana rolled her eyes, grinning. "Told you. Dweeb."_

_When soft, shy smiling lips brushed along her cheek, accompanied by her cousin's low voice murmuring, "As long as you don't mind," her heart almost burst, splattering against her lungs and ribcage._

* * *

Everyone was just about the right amount of drunk when they went downstairs to seem to barely care that Santana and Rachel had obviously **something** between them and had left to _do_ **something** after having _kissed_ each other like it had _meant_ **something** even _more_ **something**.

Kurt and Mercedes were crumpled in front of the corner of the couch, giggling and alternately jeering or cheering as each other made use of the karaoke machine. From the fact that no liquid was sloshing out of their cups as they swung them around in the air, it wasn't a surprise they were barely understandable. Santana smirked, and planned to take as much video and pictures on her phone as she could to insure they would never cross her again and hope to get away with it unscathed.

Brittany was currently killing it on the DDR pad, Mike and Matt clapping and urging her on behind her, what looked to be like, oddly, two of Brittany's dad's ties tied around their foreheads. Taking one look at the trio, Quinn laughed and shook her head, leaving Santana's side to make her way over to make sure Brittany's exertion wouldn't shift the dance pad close enough to end up with her elbows or feet toppling over the curio case near the TV.

Tina and Artie were wheeled backwards into the coffee table, the vampire stutterer draped over her soon-to-be-it-was-so-obvious-it-was-_disgusting_-boyfriend's lap, hiding her face in Artie's shoulder and unable to keep back fits of giggles as Finn and Puck, completely shit-faced, were attempting to play Guitar Hero on the TV dragged in from… Santana squinted - yes, those were the stickers Brittany's sister loved to put on _everything_ on the side - the hardest setting and failing miserably at it.

And there, all by their lonesome, were Santana's pizza and whiskey untouched and waiting for her.

Oh god fuck yes.

Food and alcohol. Could only make that night better. Besides, she turned and looked at Rachel, taking in the scene in front of her with wide eyes and parted lips, it wasn't like Rachel wasn't going to join her this time, right? Maybe not shot for shot, but…

Oh. Oh _fuck_.

Santana sucked in a breath.

If she _did_, Santana wouldn't be able to get her _off_ her.

As soon as she thought that, Santana slammed her free hand into a fist, curling her fingernails into her palm, her other hand almost bashing herself in the thigh with her cast.

_Food_! Food would be good, she thought, it coming out in a strangle even inside her own mind, desperate to distract herself. She was trying _not_ to bring any more attention to herself and Rachel, after all, and doing nothing to stop Rachel and herself from…

In _front_ of everyone…

Would not be good.

And she could _control_ herself.

She could.

She _could_.

…

Fucking hell, who was she kidding? She could _try_ to control herself and see how far that got her.

Try.

She sighed.

Yes. That's what she was going to do.

Try.

…

Like _that_ was a recipe for success.

Oh god. Santana needed to stop talking to herself.

_So_. She was still standing just inside the doorway of the living room, taking everyone in like an idiot. Which meant it was time to _do_ something. And that something? The first part in _trying_ to succeed in controlling herself?

Reaching out to snag the sleeve of Rachel's short sleeved shirt, Santana gave her a smile and inclined her head. "C'mon. I'll kick the queens off the machine. You want to sing, don't you?"

The blinding smile she got back once Rachel blinked and focused on her, the lines around her eyes crinkling in excitement, practically made Santana's legs go weak. _Fuck_, but the way Rachel had always looked, ecstatic to sing, had never _not_ taken Santana's breath away. Her cousin was beautiful. And then to add in her voice and her performing? She was _radiant_.

And at this point, Santana thought, tearing herself away before she kissed Rachel and pushed her back into the wall – she actually had to fucking _lock her knees_ and _waver on her feet_, looking back and forth between Rachel's eyes and lips for what seemed like forever as heat sizzled under her skin and Rachel rose up to meet her until Wheezy's obnoxious braying laugh brought them back into focus, catching sight of Rachel's cheeks darkening as she ran her hand through her hair and picked at her shirt, coughing self-consciously with a small smile on her face as she twisted away – maybe she should just give in and let herself enjoy it. Enjoy _Rachel_.

They had that night, after all.

Plenty of time for the unavoidable shitstorm later.


End file.
